


The New Parker Luck or, The Plan Goes Right (Kind Of)

by irishpadfoot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Description of Canonical Mental and Emotional Abuse, F/M, Fix-It, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), film rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2020-07-17 22:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 47,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19964323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishpadfoot/pseuds/irishpadfoot
Summary: Peter Parker has always been unlucky, even when the small things went right. He got his powers and lost his Uncle. He got his dream date to the Prom, then had to ditch it to fight a super-villain. He got to go to space, then got turned to dust. He got resurrected, then watched his mentor die. In his head, he was maybe 67% sure he was cursed. It was the Old Parker Luck. But maybe, just this once, things could go right for him. He'd finally got a vacation from being a super-hero, and he had a plan to get the girl.A rewriting of Far From Home where Peter Parker is a bit more lucky and a (little) bit more sensible.





	1. Peter's Pet Goldfish

Peter Parker had officially finalised his absolutely genius Plan to woo one Michelle Jones. It had six main steps.

1)Sit next to MJ on the flight to Venice.

2)Buy a dual headphone adaptor and watch movies with her for the entire flight.

3)Buy a Black Dahlia necklace in Venice.

4)Take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris and give her The Necklace.

5)Tell her The Truth.

6)????????????????

Okay, maybe it only had five steps. And if he really thought about it, he could probably combine steps one and two. And maybe even four and five. So, that was more like three steps. Three steps wasn’t too difficult. It was perfectly manageable, actually. No way he could mess it up.

“Don’t forget step seven.”

Peter’s internal monologue stopped dead at the comment. He looked at his friend in confusion. Since when was there a step seven? He’d just managed to cut the number of steps _down_ , and now Ned was adding new steps?

“Step seven?” he asked aloud, hurriedly pulling out a pen to jot it down. Sure, Ned Leeds had less relationship experience than even _Peter_ – if you could really count ditching a girl at prom to fight her father and get him arrested as a _relationship_ – but he _really_ didn’t want to mess this up with Michelle. He’d take any advice he could get.

“What’s step seven?”

“Don’t do any of that.”

Peter put down his pen. Okay, maybe not _any_ advice. He had _standards!_ Incredibly low standards, true, but still… standards.

“Why?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

“Because we’re gonna be _bachelors_ in _Europe_ , Peter – ” Ned began, leaning forwards in his chair and enthusiastically starting up a conversation that Peter had thought over at least five times before. It had happened some point between Peter realising he had a _minor_ – okay, a major, and almost all-consuming – crush on their friend Michelle, and him actually admitting it to his best friend, but Ned had latched onto the idea of the two of them as “American bachelors in Europe”, sleeping with all the attractive and exotic European girls in every place they stopped.

Peter… was less sure about the plan. Also, he’d much rather sleep with –

_Don’t get ahead of yourself, Peter._

“ – I do know this. Europeans _love_ Americans.”

Peter had completely zoned out of the discussion, distracted by his thoughts, and hadn’t realised Ned was _still_ going on about this master plan. He was trying to be as open-minded as he could about the Bachelor plan, but that _really_ didn’t sound accurate.

“Do they?” he asked doubtfully. Ned ignored his cynicism, continuing with his sales pitch.

“And more than half of them are women!”

“Okay, sure.” Peter interrupted begrudgingly. He supposed he had to accept that. It was just a statistical fact. It didn’t mean he was happy with Ned’s plan. “But I _really_ like MJ, man, okay? She’s awesome, she’s super-funny in a kinda dorky way, and sometimes I catch her looking at me and I feel like I’ve stood up way too – “

Peter was probably going overboard with the whole MJ-is-awesome thing, but he could honestly talk about her for days. She was _amazing_. She _got_ him, even without knowing about the Spider-Man thing, and that meant she liked him for him. Well, maybe not _liked_ liked. Although, hopefully. But even just as friends, she kept him on his toes with iconic one-liners and random trivia facts. She was interesting and she was wacky and she was – walking towards their table!

“She’s coming over,” Peter rushed out in a whisper, “Just don’t say anything stupid.”

“Whaddup, dorks? Excited about the science trip?”

As always, Peter’s heart skipped a beat when he looked at her. He took a breath to stop himself overreacting. There’d been a few cases when MJ had almost caught Peter and Ned discussing his totally-not-a-crush-okay-it’s-a-crush, and he’d tried to say something cool – or even just _normal_ – and tripped over his words and been squeaky and – God, he was getting embarrassed just remembering it.

“Hey! Err. Yeah. We’re just…” Peter dragged his eyes away from MJ to throw a warning glance at Ned. “Talking about the trip.”

“Yeah, and Peter’s p–” Peter saw the disaster coming and hurriedly kicked Ned under the table. The other boy clamped his mouth shut, throwing an apologetic look at Peter.

“Peter’s ‘p’?” Michelle asked, popping the ‘p’ as she raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. Peter liked to think she spent longer looking at him, but that was probably because it was his ‘p’ they were supposedly talking about. He _really_ didn’t want to know what she thought they’d been talking about.

“What ‘p’ is this?” she asked, seeming a little concerned.

Peter and Ned stared at each other, thinking fast.

“Problem,” Peter said hurriedly.

“Pet goldfish,” Ned said at the same time.

There was a long, awkward pause. Peter tried to subtly glare at Ned. _Pet goldfish?!_

“I’ve heard of problem dogs that bark all the time and stuff,” MJ said at last, and Peter could tell just from the sound of her voice that she was trying not to laugh. He checked anyway, just to give himself an excuse to look at her, and found her watching him with a cocked eyebrow and a half-smirk playing at her lips. “So I imagine a problem goldfish would, like… splash water everywhere, or something?”

“There is no goldfish,” admitted Peter. Ned sighed, as if Peter had revealed this well-kept secret that had been hidden with a brilliant lie, which it _really_ hadn’t been.

“Yeeeeaaaaah,” MJ replied, dragging the word out, “I guessed as much.” How did she manage to make him smile _and_ feel like an idiot at the same time?

“Ned was just lying to protect my secret.”

“What secret?” MJ asked, eyes narrowing. Peter was a little surprised at her sudden interest, but he supposed it _was_ MJ. She liked to _observe_ people. Peter ignored the shocked look Ned threw him. He wasn’t so stupidly head-over-heels for her that he’d just blurt out his secret identity. Well, _maybe_ …

“Oh, I’m… uh, scared of flying,” Peter bullshitted, thinking quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw understanding dawn on Ned’s face, followed by a rather impressed smile that the boy quickly hid. Peter was pretty proud of the lie as well. He might even be able to swing it – pun not intended – so that MJ would offer to sit next to him to help him deal with –

“Have you even _been_ flying before, Parker? I’d be surprised if you could afford it.”

Three heads turned as one towards the new voice. Peter tried not to sigh. Or mentally thank Flash for interrupting the awkwardness. Or reply with a snarky comment about having been to space.

“You can know you hate something without doing it, Flash,” MJ interjected smoothly. “That’s why girls all know they hate you, despite no one doing you.”

Peter choked on air. Okay, maybe he didn’t - he wasn’t even sure if you could - but that was the reason he gave himself for being breathless. It most absolutely, definitely, certainly wasn’t because of the Look that MJ gave him. The slight curving of her lips into a secretive half-smile, as if it was the two of them against Flash? That was most definitely _completely_ _unrelated_ to his situation.

Ned hit him on the back to give him some air. Or possibly to clear his throat of… air? Or maybe just because that’s what people did in the movies when someone wasn’t breathing. It didn’t really help – possibly because MJ was still giving him the Look – but he waved it away and tried to speak anyway.

“So yeah,” Peter said breathily, smugly ignoring the chastised Flash and coughing over the catch in his throat, “If you have any tips or… help?”

Peter thought that was a fairly subtle nudge towards offering to sit next to him. Maybe it was _too_ subtle, although with MJ he wasn’t entirely sure that was possible. But, if he was honest, her picking up on the hint was almost definitely a pipe dream.

“Download a VPN on your phone so that the government can’t track you while we’re abroad,” MJ said, after barely a seconds thought.

Peter blinked. Not exactly flight related, but…

“Smart,” he commented, nodding. He should probably do that anyway, just to keep his _hero_ searches hidden from… well, ‘the government’ always sounded like a conspiracy theory, but there _was_ that thing about Captain America discovering that HYDRA had been infiltrating the government, so… it was always possible, he supposed.

And with that rather random – but undoubtedly useful – advice, MJ left. Peter swore he heard her mutter something about goldfish under her breath as she left, but he was more distracted by the parting smile she gave him.

“Dude…” Once again, Ned interrupted Peter’s thoughts of MJ. It seemed like a recurring thing, but possibly it was less Ned’s terrible timing, and more that Peter was thinking about MJ more and more. “I think that went really great.”

Peter stared at him, trying to get over the disbelief so he could explain exactly how that did _not_ go ‘really great’.

 _“_ My _pet goldfish?!”_


	2. F.E.A.S.T Photo-Ops and Feeling Alone

Peter knew, deep down, that the whole thing was for a good cause. It was for _charity_! To help the _homeless_! MJ would be _thrilled_ … _if_ he could tell her that he was doing it. It was _good_. It was _heroic_. It was the kind of thing Avengers did when they weren’t saving the world. Of course, none of his rationalising managed in any way to make it any less stressful.

He was up on stage, staring out at hundreds of people, wearing his nano-tech suit. The one that had been christened online as the ‘Iron Spider’ suit. The internet had picked up on it as soon as he’d started wearing it in public. Since that was just after… everything that had happened with the Blip, and considering the appearance, the name had sprung up almost immediately. Peter really wasn’t sure how he felt about the name, some sort of mixture between pride and terror. Getting questions and comments about the name and the suit was almost enough to put him off wearing it, but it was definitely his most popular suit, and it was stuffed with much more technology than his ordinary suit. But still… wearing it felt weird. It reminded him of –

A rumble of laughter from the audience was just in time to pull him out of that particular spiral of depression.

“ – the grandma thought that I was a ghost…”

Aunt May had been almost as stressed as Peter normally was since she’d started to work for F.E.A.S.T full-time, and running, directing, and staring in – hosting, technically. Peter realised with growing dread that _he_ was the star – a fundraising event for the charity had been on her mind the last few weeks. She’d been testing lines on him at completely random times, sending him messages in class to see which wording worked better, once giving her opening lines to him through the closed bathroom door while he was in the shower. Luckily, he had been _cleaning_. The alternative would have been… well, even more awkward.

“Thank you all for coming out to support those who have been displaced by the Blip. And, of course, thanks to our very own Spider-Man!”

The applause made Peter’s stomach drop. He hated public speaking, even only in front of the class for presentations. This was a _lot_ more stressful. There were bright lights, lots of rich people, journalists, photographers… He was very grateful for the suit. And that the metal somehow breathed, meaning he wasn’t sweating _too_ much.

May glanced at him, and he realised that had been his cue. He stepped up to the microphone, waving. He cleared his throat, wincing at the feedback from the microphone which, even through the audio filter of the suit, terrorised his hyper-sensitive senses.

“Thank you, Miss Parker, for having me.” He hoped he didn’t really sound as weedy as he thought he sounded. He vaguely remembered something about your voice sounding different to you because of it going through bones rather than air. And now he was getting distracted! What was his next line? He’d scribbled out a very short… he couldn’t even call it a speech, but it was on a crumpled napkin stuffed in the pocket of the jeans he'd worn that day. No use now.

“And, thank you to you guys for having me.” He paused, swallowing. “I know we’ve all been through a lot these past few months, and the last five years for some of us, but F.E.A.S.T, and you guys, your donations, they… they really do help make a difference.”

He stepped back from the microphone as the – slightly quieter – applause started again. He definitely wasn’t as good at public speaking as May.

“Thank you, Spider-Man!” May repeated, stepping up to the microphone again. How was she so relaxed? _He_ was the one in the mask! “He’ll be right back out to take photos and videos! Thank you!”

As the applause grew again, Peter all-but-rushed off the stage through the curtains. He quickly scanned the room before sending the slightest of thoughts through the electrodes pressed against his head. Instantly, the mask retracted, electrodes detaching and vanishing into the suit. He let out a shaky breath and wiped sweat from his brow, turning back to May as she slipped into the ‘back-stage’ area, which looked like it was simply a kitchen that had been repurposed for Peter’s privacy during the evening. They’d deactivated the security cameras to prevent a record of his face, and all the serving staff was asked to keep away.

“That was – ” Peter quickly replaced the _fucking terrifying_ he felt with the more family-friendly “amazing” that he imagined May wanted to hear, high-fiving his aunt.

“That was great!” He wasn’t sure if that was her just being nice, or if it had actually been good.

“That was so cool.” Peter was talking on auto-pilot, but as the sheer terror of public speaking faded away, Peter had to admit it was good to help out, even in a less-than-action-packed way. “I was so nervous.”

“I’m sorry I was so stiff,” May apologised, although _why_ , he had no idea.

“I thought you did great!” Peter wasn’t just saying that because he was contractually obligated as a nephew. She was an amazing public speaker. He, on the other hand…

“Yeah? Well… I did actually think you were a little stiff.”

So it _was_ as bad as he’d feared.

“Yeah, I… I felt that too,” Peter admitted, shrugging in what he hoped was a semi-dismissive, unconcerned way.

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” Peter wasn’t sure how reassured he felt. May must have sensed his awkwardness and quickly steered the conversation to the topic of the Trip.

“Did you get your passport?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, trying not to sigh. She’d been hassling him to get his passport for _weeks_. Sure, he’d taken a while to get it, but his procrastination had turned out all right, when Ned had – with some subtle prompting from Peter – invited MJ on a group trip to get their passports. Well, pizza and passports. They’d spent a few hours tucked into a booth at a pizza joint, laughing over each other’s passport photos. MJ had adamantly refused to show them her middle name, covering it with a finger, and when Peter had tried to steal her passport to see what the issue was, she’d threatened to stab him with a fork.

“And the mini toothpaste?” Peter nodded. Small versions of ordinary washing stuff was one of the things he found funniest about trips. They were so cute!

“What about protection? If the _plan_ works, you might need it!”

Peter tried not to die of embarrassment. He wasn’t sure whether he should be proud she had such faith in his ability to woo MJ, or horribly humiliated at her question. He went for the second option, and was about to complain at her _totally_ inappropriate question, when the rattle of a door being opened saved him from answering. With a twitch of a finger, the nano-tech mask reappeared almost instantly. Then Peter recognised the figure entering the room, carrying what looked like one of those outrageously large checks from tv lottery wins. Were they actual checks? Was that just the size check you used for massive transactions?

“Hey, sorry I’m late!”

“Happy!” welcomed Peter as he dismissed the mask, glad for the distraction, “Hey!”

Happy _completely_ _ignored_ him, addressing May as if Peter wasn’t stood right there. Maybe he _wasn’t_ the star.

“You look lovely.”

“Thanks! You too.”

Peter blinked, trying to keep his face blank. _What the f–?_

“New dress?” Happy asked, _looking over Aunt May_. Peter simply stared, looking between the two of them.

“Uh, yes, it is. Is it a new beard?”

“My-my Blip Beard. ‘cause I grew it in the Blip.”

Peter threw a confused look at Happy, who simply repeated the horrifying term “Blip Beard”. It was almost as bad as the “Peter Tingle” his aunt had come up with.

“I see,” May laughed. Peter blinked again, trying to keep his mouth shut. _God, was this what he was like around MJ?!_

“Anyway, so, the reason I’m late is because this,” Happy said, handing over the massive check – Peter glanced at it, then did a double-take. _$50,000_ – “was misplaced at the office, if you can believe it! ‘cause it’s enormous. I mean, not the amount, the size of the... I mean, the amount’s nice.”

Happy was rambling. It really was like watching him talk to MJ from the outside. _Oh no._

“The foundation is very generous. Pepper Potts said she was sorry she couldn’t be here.”

Peter was still trying to wrap his head around what _exactly_ was going on, when May took the check and left, giving a quick reminder for Peter to “go shake hands.”

“Will do,” Peter said distractedly, half-waving. The curtain closed behind her and Peter immediately turned to question Happy.

“What-what just happened?”

Happy completely ignored the question.

“Heads up. Nick Fury’s calling you.” Peter had to admit, as distractions went, that was a pretty solid one.

“Nick Fury’s gonna call _me_? Why?!”

“Why?” echoed Happy, “Because… he probably has some hero stuff for you to do. You’re a superhero. He calls superheroes.”

Peter was reeling from three massive shake-ups after another. First, his aunt’s _massively_ inappropriate question – and the ideas his brain came up with, which he pointedly tried to ignore. Then, _whatever_ was going on between Happy and his aunt, and now _Nick Fury_ was calling him?!

“Well, I mean, if it was really that important, he’d probably call someone else, not me.”

Sure, Spider-Man was one of the few Avengers reliably on Earth, and regularly available, but _still_. Fury knew he was just a kid. He wasn’t _always_ available. Plus, if it was something that needed an _Avenger_ , surely there were more qualified people to deal with – ?

Peter felt his stomach drop as he heard his phone vibrate in his bag. He rushed over and pulled it out, ignoring Happy’s sarcastic comment to stare at the phone. _Unknown Number._

“See? No caller ID. That’s him.”

Peter looked at Happy pleadingly.

“I don’t really wanna talk to Nick Fury,” he admitted.

“Answer your phone.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t talk to him, I have to talk to him, and I don’t want to talk to him.”

Peter frowned at the man.

“Why don’t you want to talk to him?”

“Because I’m scared–Just answer the phone!”

Peter ignored him – both the admission of fear, because, well, it was Nick Fury, and the command. He held up the phone and hit the _reject call_ button, trying not to feel smug.

“You sent Nick Fury to voicemail?”

Even Peter couldn’t believe he’d just done that.

“Yeah,” he admitted. It was too late to change it.

“You don’t send Nick Fury to voicemail,” warned Happy.

“Did you hear that?” Peter said suddenly, turning towards the curtains, “they’re calling me.” They most definitely weren’t, but Peter _really_ wanted to avoid another lecture, “I gotta go!” Peter said in fake apology, already heading towards the curtains. “I’m gonna call him! I promise! I’m gonna call him!”

Peter backed through the curtains.

“I promise you, I’ll call him –” as the curtains closed between them, Peter let out a long breath, “– _after_ my trip.”

The mask slid into place over his face as he hurried out the side entrance to where the journalists were waiting for interviews and photos. Only a slightly less terrifying prospective than talking to Nick Fury.

“Hey!” Peter called as he stepped outside, before being immediately overwhelmed with questions, and the flash of cameras, and those long microphone sticks were hovering over him like giant flies. What were they called? Bang microphones? _Boom_ microphones. That was it.

“Okay, okay, one question at a time!” Peter said, raising his hands in an attempt to quiet the crowd. He picked a journalist at random.

“Are you the head Avenger now?”

“Errr. No, I’m not,” he said simply. He was a _kid_. But he guessed they didn’t know that. “I guess I’m… here if they need me,” Well, mostly. He did have a vacation coming up. And he was avoiding Nick Fury. But other than that… “I’m going to focus on being a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man for the time being.”

“If aliens come back, what are you going to do?”

Peter hesitated. Big question.

“I mean, fight them, I guess?” That got a few laughs. Peter tried to relax. “I’m not some brilliant strategist. I just try my best to help.”

“What’s it like to take over from Tony Stark?” interjected another reporter. Peter almost recoiled at the question. “Those are some big shoes to fill.”

 _Tell me about it._ Peter tried to swallow, focusing on the reporter as much as he could. His eyes easily picked out the name on the man's badge. _Joe Robertson, Frontline News._ Why did he care who the reporter was? His mind was out of sync with the rest of his body. His mouth was dry. He felt ill. He wasn’t sure if it was the lights and the noise, but he was getting overwhelmed. Light headed. Dizzy. 

“Does anyone have any neighbourhood questions?” he asked, but he was too quiet, lost under the sea of noise and questions and _people_ – _so many people_. Peter took a deep breath for air, trying to steady himself.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna go,” Peter said, trying to stop himself from completely melting down, “Thanks for coming.”

He didn’t bother trying to get through the throng of reporters, or flee back into the F.E.A.S.T shelter, he simply leapt straight up, flicking out a web and catapulting himself into the blissfully dark, quiet night.

* * *

After five minutes of swinging, he landed on a building at the edge of a park, crouching to steady himself. He retracted the mask, taking gulps of cold air, and tried to wipe away the tears that filled his vision.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, digging at the corner of his eye with his knuckles, then, realising there was no one around to hear him, shouting it. “FUCK!”

The sound echoed back to him. _Alone_. Great, now he felt even worse. He sat down heavily, mind reeling. He’d been getting better. Slowly. Nowhere near how he was before, but… but still. Better. And now _this_? _Shitshitshitshitshit_.

His phone rang. He took what was supposed to be a steadying breath before picking it up. If it was Nick Fury, he’d chuck it off the building.

_Aunt May._

Peter took another breath, hoping it might make him sound normal, then answered the call.

“Hey, May!”

He thought he’d sounded pretty normal, but May wasn’t fooled.

“Peter, are you okay?”

He paused to think about it.

“Y-yeah.” A lie. Another pause. “It’s just… the interviews got a bit much. I needed to…”

“Oh, Peter…”

He swallowed heavily. He’d messed up, big time. The evening was supposed to be a big fundraising event, and he’d been terrible at the dinner speech, then fled from the interview.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, then rushed it out, “I know this was a big thing for you and F.E.A.S.T and I messed–“

“Peter.” May cut across his rambling with a firm but, as always, kind voice. “Breathe. Tonight went fine. With the Stark Foundation donation we’ve passed our goal _and_ covered our administrative fees for the next month. Now, are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be… I’ll be fine. I’ll come home soon. Just need to… clear my head.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll leave your window open.”


	3. Peter Parker Packing for the Plane

Peter Parker was busy. Thinking about it sensibly, he probably should have started packing a few days ago. He actually _had_ everything he needed, he just needed to fit it in his suitcase. Sure, the trip was only for a week, but he needed to pack at least two smart sets of clothes, underwear, and –

His attempt at procrastinating the actual packing was interrupted by his phone ringing. He snatched it up, hoping against hope it was MJ, looking for someone to talk to, or Ned, repeating his American-Bachelors-in-Europe plan, or really anyone except…

 _Unknown Number_.

Peter locked his phone, ending the ringing, and dropped it back onto the table. He’d talk to Fury _after_ the trip. That was the point of vacations.

He pulled out the drawer from under his bed and snatched up some clean underwear, chucking it into his suitcase.

Wash-bag filled with mini toothpaste, mini deodorant, mini soap, and mini shower stuff? Check.

Headphone splitter for the Plan? _Check_.

Passport? _Check_.

Plane snacks? _Check_.

A week’s worth of underwear? _Check_.

A few pairs of trousers? _Check_.

T-shirts? _Check_.

A smart outfit? _Check_.

A semi-smart outfit for the Eiffel Tower is-it-a-date? _Check_.

A Spider-Man suit?

Peter stood up and turned to look at the suit hung over the cupboard rail. The _Stark_ Suit. The first gift he’d gotten from Tony. Should he – ?

 _Smack_.

Peter recoiled, flinging up his hands, protecting his face from any following attacks. Or, as his mind had just caught up with exactly what hit him in the face, any following fruits. A _banana_?

Peter turned to the door, where his aunt was stood, obviously trying to look apologetic, hiding a smile behind her hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, even though Peter could hear her laughter, “I thought that you could sense that, with your…” _Sixth sense_. “Peter Tingle.”

Peter sighed internally. The Peter Tingle™. May’s term for the weird sixth sense thing that _sometimes_ warned him about _some_ things in _some_ circumstances. She thought the name was hilarious, but… like, really?

“Please, do not call it my Peter Tingle.”

“So, you can dodge bullets but not bananas?”

Peter had to admit he didn’t understand it. The sense had always been hit or miss for anything but major events, but recently it had been… virtually non-existent. He’d been distracted, he supposed, since the Blip. Maybe that was it. Stress.

“I just… really need this vacation,” Peter replied, trying to keep calm, “I need a break.”

May crossed the room and folded him into a hug which he didn’t have the energy to resist. He needed it.

“You deserve it.”

Peter released her, trying to come up with a subtle way of kicking her out of the room so he could keep packing, but she let go of him and headed for the door.

“You know what?” May said suddenly, turning back at the door, “You should pack your suit. Just in case.”

Peter tried not to roll his eyes. It was meant to be a _vacation_. From everything! School _and_ hero-stuff.

“I have a tingle about it.”

Peter groaned as she headed back towards the kitchen.

“Please stop saying ‘tingle’, May.”

Peter turned back to look at the suit. Luckily, the stress seemed to have gone, and he just considered whether he should take it.

_No. VACATION._

Peter pushed the cupboard door closed, before his eyes fell on the _other_ suit. The nanotech-based Iron Spider suit was too technological to just hang over a rail. It had a whole storage unit that had been delivered to him just after the funeral. He didn't even know how he'd go about taking it with him. He assumed it was a checked bag, rather than a carry-on. Or did it count as a personal item?

Peter hurriedly turned away from the storage unit, muttering to himself to distract his thoughts as he shut the suitcase with finality. That was it. He was done. He was _not_ taking a suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one this time, simply because it was a short scene in the film, and this is basically an unofficial novelisation, just with... a few added changes, because I'm not as heartless and cruel as some Marvel directors.


	4. The Plan to Fix the Plan™

Peter looked out the small window out onto the tarmac and couldn’t help grinning to himself. They were almost ready for lift-off.

Ned shook his shoulder and he turned, immediately scanning the plane for MJ. Wait, should Ned and him swap places? Then MJ could sit in the isle seat, next to him?

“Yo, Parker!”

Once again, his planning was interrupted by Flash, shouting to him from the first class divider in front with a glass of champagne. Could he even drink champagne?

“This is called an airplane,” Peter almost ignored his comment when MJ stopped in front of their seats. “It’s like the buses you’re used to, except it flies over the poor neighbourhoods, instead of driving through them.”

Peter was still trying to think if he should ignore Flash and ask MJ if she wanted to sit next to him, or come up with a witty comment, or –

“Ma’am?” As per usual, MJ hadn’t waited for Peter to think up something smart, catching the stewardess’s attention. “He Blipped, so technically he’s sixteen, not twenty-one.”

Peter would usually have taken the time to enjoy the stream of excuses and complaints as Flash lost his champagne, but this time he was a little more distracted by MJ simply turning and smiling at him.

“Thanks,” Peter said, before rushing out, as she moved to go up the plane, “Wanna sit with us?”

MJ stopped and glanced at him, a strange look on her face.

“I got a seat further up. Next to Betty.” She almost seemed apologetic, or disappointed. Probably just pity.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Okay. No problem.” Shut up Peter, you’re rambling.

And with that, MJ was gone. And then there was Brad Davis, stopped in front of them. Brad hadn’t Blipped, which was a major shock. Actually it wasn’t, it was pure statistics, but how much he’d changed in the missing five years was a shock. He’d been a kid when they’d left, and now they were back and he was… well, a ‘hunk’ was how he was normally described. It was bizarre. Suddenly, girls were over him. Well…Peter threw a look after MJ, hopefully not all the girls.

And with a weird look at Peter, Brad was gone.

Peter’s stomach dropped as Brad stopped at the seat in front of MJ. Well, that was just _perfect_.

“Did you know Brad was coming?” Peter asked Ned uncertainly. The Plan didn’t have procedures to deal with Brad, and Peter couldn’t just add to the Plan at random!

“It’s so weird,” Ned commented, seemingly more distracted by Brad than Peter’s panic over the Plan. Or maybe Peter just wasn’t panicking obviously. “Like, one day he’s that little kid who cried and got nose bleeds all the time, and then suddenly …”

Peter tuned out Ned’s rambling as he watched Brad help MJ with putting her carry-on in the overhead compartment.

“He’s totally ripped and super nice, and all the girls are after him.” That caught Peter’s attention with a spark of jealousy.

“Not all the girls are after him,” Peter corrected, semi-hopefully. Like, no one was that amazingly perfect and attractive. Right?

“No, man, they’re all after him.”

Peter frowned at Ned pointedly, kind of expecting his friend to be reassuring him, then tried not to clench his jaw as he heard MJ’s laugh. In spite of himself, his eyes instinctively flicked towards her.

“Anyway, on to more important things. It’s a nine-hour flight, we can play Beast Slayers the entire time.”

Peter was still distracted watching MJ. A plan to fix the Plan. Need a plan to fix the Plan.

“Ned, I need you to help me sit next to MJ.”

Ned looked at him like he was an idiot. Okay, maybe he was, but _still_. Friends were supposed to be supportive, even of stupid ideas.“Seriously? What about our plan? American bachelors in Europe!” Peter tried not to scream in frustration.

“That’s your plan! That’s a solo plan! Come on, this is my plan.”

Ned sighed and looked between Peter and where MJ was sitting. Peter decided to push it just a little further.

“Please?”

Ned sighed again, louder this time, and shook his head slightly. Peter wasn’t sure if he was surrendering to the Plan, or refusing to take part. He waited with baited breath, still throwing glances over at MJ.

“Fine. What do you want to do?”

“Just… go over there and try and swap me and Betty or something? Or, like, you and MJ?”

“I’d rather stay here,” Ned said, gesturing to the bulky laptop, which he carefully placed in the empty seat beside him, “They’ve got power sockets on the window seats.”

“Okay, fine! Swap me and Betty! Like, say I’m bored or something and want to talk to someone?”

* * *

Peter listened nervously, heightened senses easily picking out the discussion through the hubbub of the plane. He tried to keep his head down so he didn’t look like he was watching, but had to peek up once or twice, just to see how it was going. Obviously, those were the exact moments that Michelle decided to look over. And now she probably thought he was creeping on her.

“Hey, um, Betty?” Peter heard Ned ask, sounding as awkward as he always did talking to girls. Exactly _how_ he expected to pull off this thrice- and twice-damned American-bachelors-in-Europe plan, Peter had no idea. Although, in all honesty, his own plan was probably just as unlikely. But there was no need for Peter to be honest. It _would_ work. Possibly.

“Yeah?”

“Were you and Michelle planning on watching a movie or chatting or something?”

“I mean, I’ve brought a book I want to read, so…” Peter peeked over and saw the girls share a look. MJ shrugged disinterestedly, then turned and caught Peter’s gaze again. Peter hurriedly ducked down.

“Because I’ve got something to do, and Peter’s already bored, so we were thinking if one of you wanted to swap, then…”

“Then the two of you can be unsociable together while Peter and I talk?” Peter tried not to grin at MJ’s sarcastic tone.

“I mean… basically?”

Peter held his breath, trying to psychically influence Betty’s thoughts. It wasn’t _impossible_ that he would suddenly and unexpectedly develop psychic powers! _Say yes. Say yes. Say yes._

“Uh, yeah, sure, that sounds fine.”

And like that, it was decided. Peter and Betty swapped seats, and the Plan was back in motion.

* * *

Peter settled into the seat, trying not to grin _too_ obviously.

“So, let me get this right, _you_ got bored of _Ned_?” MJ asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well… uh…” Peter fumbled for an excuse, “My laptop died and he was going to play a solo game the whole flight, so I thought I should try and sit next to someone to talk to?”

He couldn’t help his voice going up at the end, turning the excuse into a question. MJ kept looking at him for a moment, before shrugging.

“Whatever. I mean, I was just going to watch a movie or something. I’m sure I asked you about your plan before but you never answered.”

“My plan?” Peter asked hurriedly, “What-what plan? I don’t have a plan!” How did she know about the Plan?!

MJ blinked.

“Like, what you were going to do on the plane. Read a book, watch a movie, sleep? I left you a voicemail? But you… never answered. Like usual.”

Peter relaxed. Of course she didn’t know about the Plan. Then he winced at her comment. He was absolutely terrible at answering calls, checking voicemails, and calling back about stuff, even when the person calling _wasn’t_ the girl he had a crush on. He usually ended up staring at the phone, stressing over what to say, and by the time he came up with some confident way of answering the phone – although it was usually as simple as “Hey!” – it had gone to answer machine. The fact that her many answer machine messages were saved on his phone to listen to as much as he liked was simply an unintended benefit.

“Oh, right. Yeah, sorry. Just been busy. Uh, movies sound good. I’ve got a double headphone adaptor… somewhere.” Peter knew exactly where the adaptor was. He’d kept it in his front pocket for easy reach when the Plan was in motion, but he didn’t want to make it obvious he was waiting to watch movies with her. He checked his bag, then ‘discovered’ it in his pocket.

“Got it,” he said unnecessarily, waving it. “So…” he coughed awkwardly, “What kind of movie did you want to watch?”

“Either something hilarious, or something super depressing. They’re like, my two emotions.”

“You mean you actually have emotions?” Peter joked instinctively, before biting his tongue. Before he could apologise, MJ actually laughed, a sudden, quiet thing, but genuine. Peter’s heart leaped at the sound.

“Wow, Peter Parker can actually make comebacks. I’m shocked.”

Peter’s sudden and unexpected skill at comebacks apparently didn’t extend as far as coming up with a comeback to _that_. He tried to ignore her smirk and plug the adaptor in, but kept fumbling with it. The damn thing wouldn’t plug in! It would be just his luck if he’d bought the wrong size –

“Here, let me,” MJ said after a moment of watching him struggle, plucking the adaptor from Peter’s hands and plugging it in on the first attempt.

“I can put things in first go,” MJ explained, before hurriedly adding, “USB sticks and stuff. It’s like my superpower.”

Peter was still reeling from MJ’s hand touching his as she took the adaptor. He tried to think of a response.

“Oh. Cool.”

_Way to be smooth._

“So, what did you want to start with?” MJ asked, leaning over to click through the options on Peter’s screen. Peter tried not to notice she was leaning against him.

“Uh. Depressing? Then happy?”

MJ glanced at him.

“Like, alternate? Or do loads of depressing ones, then loads of happy ones?”

She hadn’t leaned back to look at him. Her face was incredibly close. He almost couldn’t breathe. He went with the option that was easiest to explain.

“Alternate?”

MJ nodded.

“Yeah, emotional whiplash makes everything that much better.”

Peter wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that.

“Start with The Snap?”

At the sight of the movie’s poster, Peter flinched. He’d heard of it, of course. Everyone had. It had released a few months ago and, quite reasonably, been incredibly controversial. One part blockbuster movie, one part documentary about the fight against Thanos and the consequences. The first fight. The one that he’d messed up. MJ was looking at him strangely.

“Or, like, something less personal? Since I guess we both…”

Peter opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, trying to calm down before he spoke.

“Hey, dork?” MJ seemed concerned at his lack of a response, nudging him lightly, “You okay?”

That sparked a reaction. He nodded hurriedly, tearing his eyes away from the screen. From the silhouette of the Gauntlet. The shine of the Stones. He locked eyes with MJ and focused on breathing.

“Maybe something else?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

* * *

They went for a few less high-stakes choices. Peter found a series of murder mystery documentaries in the TV series section that he knew MJ would like. The raised eyebrow and half-smile she gave him as the first episode loaded really shouldn’t have made his heart jump like that. After they’d gone through all seven episodes, they went for an adult comedy based around the Blip that caused MJ to laugh so hard she almost spilled Peter’s drink over him, and it was only pure luck that saved it, because Peter’s sixth sense once again was on the blink. After the inflight food arrived, MJ recommended The Snap again, an almost-hidden look of concern on her face. Maybe it was because MJ’s arm was pressed against his so they could eat properly, or because she was looking out for him, or maybe it was just the after-effects of the comedy, but Peter agreed.

* * *

It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, to be perfectly honest, though the action-packed ‘movie’ part was incredibly misinformed. According to the film, the entire battle had taken place in Wakanda, rather than being split between Wakanda and Titan, and the US army had been involved in the battle, apparently, because _of course it was_. Peter felt absurd watching Spider-Man swinging across the screen, although he had to admit that they had done a good job with the suit. He assumed it was just CGI. They’d even done a scene with Iron Man giving it to him, although for plot reasons it had been in the Wakandan palace, and Black Panther had anointed him an Avenger, like a medieval knight, despite the fact that the Black Panther wasn’t even an Avenger – was he? Plus, the actor they’d chosen to play the mysterious Spider-Man was almost twice his age and seemed like a bit of a jerk, but maybe he only thought that because MJ seemed to be checking the guy out.

* * *

Peter pulled his eyes away from the final fight, trying to avoid the onslaught of memories, when he noticed MJ watching him carefully. He grinned at her, trying to reassure her, and she paused the film.

“What do you think?” MJ asked as Peter pulled out his headphones.

“The movie? It’s okay so far.”

“Seems a bit ridiculous to me.”

Peter agreed with her assessment, to be honest, but he tried to seem confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, they skipped over the attack on New York?”

“I mean, he was after the stones, right?” He tried to sort out the plot of the movie from what had actually happened, “And all the Avengers were in Wakanda.”

“Well then why did they really attack New York as well?”

Peter shrugged.

“Wasn’t Strange in New York originally? Maybe the film had him go to Wakanda earlier or something?”

MJ rolled her eyes.

“And miss out on the chance to make a massive destruction wankfest? _Please._ Why wouldn’t the directors include it?”

Again, Peter shrugged.

“Didn’t want to be too controversial?”

MJ stared at him like he was an idiot, which… to be fair…

“Ah, yes, the two directors making a film about the destruction of half of existence, including the traumatic death of _half of their viewers_ , didn’t want to be _too controversial_.”

That was a pretty valid point.

“Maybe they didn’t want to have to do extra special effects just for a montage? They seem to have spent a ton on unnecessary CGI, so maybe they blew the budget.”

MJ thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

“Sure, I guess. So, who’s your favourite Avenger?”

Peter blinked at the sudden change in questions.

“What, like, in the movie, or in real life?”

MJ shrugged.

“Either. Both.” Peter thought about it. Should he say Spider-Man? He _could_ argue it was just supporting a local hero, but it was a bit too close to the truth for comfort.

“I mean, Doctor Strange is cool in the movie. Like, he has actual magic. Plus there’s his plan and him being all mysterious. Although Thor’s entrance is badass, with the hammer flying around.”

“Axe.”

Peter glanced at her, not having to feign confusion.

“Axe?”

“Remember, Mjölnir was destroyed? He needed to get an axe. That’s where he arrived from with the lightning and shit.”

Peter nodded.

“Right, yeah, axe. But real life? I mean, what with the internship and… and everything, I feel like I’ve got to say Iron Man.”

MJ raised an eyebrow.

“Not Spider-Man? No support for our neighbourhood hero?”

Peter kicked himself mentally, but shrugged.

“I’ve never met him – ”

“That you know of,” MJ interjected, “but sure. The internship. And everything. Did you ever meet Stark?”

Peter thought quickly. What would be expected at an internship?

“…Yeah, a few times. He was there for the orientation thing giving a welcoming talk thing, and he dropped into the office a few times. Seemed really cool.”

“Huh,” was all MJ said.

“Shall we…?” Peter reached forwards to start the film up. “We’ve still got the documentary bit.”

MJ waved a hand, nodding.

“Sure, sure.”

Peter started it up and settled back, and for a moment he almost considered putting an arm around her shoulders. A bit _too_ forward, though.

The movie started up just as Thanos restored Vision to life to claim the last stone. Peter winced at the almost torturous death Thanos forced the hero through as he removed the stone. With a click, it slid into place in the gauntlet. And then, bam! Thor’s axe hit him in the chest. Peter had no idea how accurate this bit was, since he’d been up in space at the time. From what he’d been told after all the fighting was done after the Blip, Thor _had_ almost killed Thanos just before the Snap. So, he guessed that it was at least _slightly_ accurate.

And then it happened. The Snap. Peter clenched his hand around the armrests as he watched the disaster unfold. He tried not to shudder as Spider-Man collapsed into dust. Then the others. He closed his eyes, trying to relax. Breathe.

He felt a hand rest on his, not squeezing, just there. Somehow, that grounded him. Just the presence. And then his mind caught up to him, and he realised just whose hand it was.

 _Michelle Jones was holding his hand._ He tried to stay as still as possible so she wouldn’t move her hand, but somehow, as soon as he’d calmed down, it was gone. Peter was kind of impressed at how easily she read him. He opened his eyes and glanced at her, but she was pointedly watching as the movie shifted from the movie to home video of the disaster unfolding, marking the move to the documentary portion. It was only when he focused back on watching the movie that he sensed MJ’s gaze flicker back to look at him.


	5. Airports and Hotels

Peter was so distracted simply being sat next to MJ, he had completely missed the captains announcement that they were coming in to land, so the rather bumpy landing came as quite a surprise. Peter tried to unclench his hand from the arm, swallowing loudly.

“Huh, you really are – ” Peter turned to MJ, but she’d stopped talking suddenly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before being hurriedly hidden behind her usual half-amused, half-disinterested expression.

“I’m really what?”

“Nothing.”

There was a moment where Peter almost wanted to push the discussion, find out what she was actually thinking, but MJ seemed to have reacted to her unintended comment by throwing up the emotional walls Peter had spent the flight slowly lowering. The moment passed, and Peter glanced up at the signs, waiting for the seatbelt sign to flick off, but MJ simply unclipped her seatbelt and stood up, throwing an amused look at Peter.

“Are you seriously going to wait for them to turn the light off?” The dripping sarcasm in the comment made it clear that whatever it was that had just happened, and whatever Peter _really was_ , they weren’t going to be discussing it any further.

Peter flushed, hurriedly standing up and snatching up his backpack, which he’d simply stuffed between his feet.

“No, I was just waiting for you to – ”

MJ cut off his rather pitiful excuse with a smirk, opening the overhead compartment.

“Can you lend me a hand with my bag?” she asked, trying to carefully pull her bag down.

“Yeah, of course!” Peter said, before mentally kicking himself. He sounded like an overenthusiastic idiot. Which he supposed he was.

“I mean, I can reach it, but it’s heavy.”

Peter nodded, stepping closer to get his hand under the bag. It was as MJ pulled the bag free and Peter had to take the weight of the bag that Peter realised quite how close he was standing to MJ. He hesitated, and the bag slipped through his fingers, smacking him in the face before he caught it as it started to fall to the floor.

“Ah, damn it,” Peter muttered, covering his eye with one hand as he offered the bag to MJ with the other. “That wasn’t quite as…” he caught himself before admitting out loud that he was trying to look cool and suave for MJ. That would have been almost as embarrassing as dropping her bag on his face. Wouldn’t have hurt as much though. What did she have in there? Bricks? Knowing MJ, it was books. Thick, hardbacked, political books that weighed as much as bricks, and hurt when they hit you in the face.

“Smooth, Parker,” MJ said drily, obviously trying not to laugh as she took her bag. Then she became more serious. “Are you okay?”

Peter nodded quickly, blinking his eye rapidly to try and stop it watering before MJ thought he was crying.

“You’re gonna look cool with a black eye, though.” MJ joked. Peter was trying to think of something to say – though his mind was just screaming about MJ thinking he looked cool – when Brad Davis almost knocked him off his feet.

“Sorry, Pete. Just got to get my bag down.”

Peter sighed internally, stepping out of the way – away from MJ – to let him get his down, which he, _of course_ , swung down without an issue.

“No problem,” he muttered, heading down the plane towards his old seat. Ned and Betty had already gotten off the plane, so at least Peter didn’t have to explain the black eye and annoyed expression he was pretty sure was plastered on his face.

* * *

It was only when he’d gotten off the plane and was in the queue to passport control that Peter realised he probably should have waited for MJ. He could see her, several people behind, chatting with Brad Davis. His frown deepened as she laughed at one of his comments. He turned away, then spotted Ned, almost level with him the other side of barrier. He waved to catch his friend’s attention.

“Hey, Ned. Where did you – ?”

“Peter is that a black eye?” Peter waved the question away. He did not want to talk about it.

“It’s fine. But where did you vanish off to?”

“Hey babe, thanks for keeping my spot.”

Peter almost did a double-take as Betty Brant squeezed up next to Ned, kissing his cheek. He tried not to stare at the two of them as they headed past him as the line moved up. What the hell?

He felt a jab in his side.

“Hey, dork.”

Peter turned, and suddenly MJ was next to him.

“MJ! Hey. Sorry about leaving, I just didn’t want to – ”

“You left this behind,” MJ said, cutting him off and dangling the headphone adaptor in front of his face.

“Oh, thanks.”

Peter took it back and shoved it back into his pocket, trying not to look back at Brad Davis smugly.

“What’s up? You look stunned. Concussion from face-planting my bag?”

It took a fair amount of self-control not to say that she looked stunning. She always did.

“Oh. No, no, I’m fine. It’s just… Ned, and Betty. I… think they’re… dating?”

MJ looked over at them, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, it sure looks like it.”

Peter followed her gaze to the two of them, who were stood, hand in hand, laughing. He had a sudden vision of him and MJ standing like that. He liked it.

“Anyway… I should probably get back to my place,” MJ said, glancing pointedly at the rather irritated looking woman behind them in the line, “So… see you in a bit.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, turning back, but she was already gone. Peter grimaced as he spotted her next to Brad Davis again and frowned as she took her bag from him with a smile.

* * *

Peter had _almost_ made it through the whole airport. Passport check went off without a hitch. His had been one of the first suitcases off the conveyor belt, and then, because MJ was stuck behind a crowd of people, he grabbed hers when it came past, and earned a smile when he handed it to her. The two of them had walked towards the trip’s meet-up point together, following the crowd of teenagers, when Peter had heard a dog whine and an airport official call out, “Sir, can you stop for a moment?”

* * *

Peter’s stomach dropped as he looked down at the sniffer dog nudging at his suitcase. _Good doggie._ He glanced up at MJ, who raised an eyebrow.

“Uhh… Do you want to go ahead and tell Mr Harrington that I’ll be a few minutes?”

“Yup. Will do.” And with that, she left, abandoning Peter to the frowning expression of the customs lady.

The two of them – and the dog – walked over to one of the checking tables on the side of the room.

“There’s nothing in there,” assured Peter, as the customs official swung his suitcase around and unzipped it, “I swear.”

The suitcase fell open.

Peter swore internally.

* * *

Peter knew he was _incredibly_ lucky when it came to Aunt May. She did all the cooking for him – in part because he’d almost set the kitchen on fire trying to make soup once, and there were still horror stories told of his attempt at dumplings – she drove him places on the odd occasion he needed it, she was incredibly understanding both of Peter’s job as Spider-Man, and the school’s annoyance with him for being late because of it. She even helped him prepare for big events, from the prom a few years ago, to designing the Plan, even making sure he was prepared for the trip as a whole.

* * *

Which probably explained the high-tech Spider-Man suit neatly folded on top of his suitcase, along with the handwritten note about how he’d “almost forgot” it. Peter hurriedly looked around to see if any of his classmates were nearby, but they’d already moved on. He turned to face the customs official, trying to think of something to say. And then she picked up a banana. May must have stuck it in there with the suit to make a joke about the incident with the Peter Tingle.

“This, no.”

“No banana. Okay.”

He apologised profusely, quickly zipped up his suitcase, and sprinted after the rest of his class. He took a corner going full-speed, instinctively gripping the end of the wall as he almost lifted off the floor as his momentum took him around the corner, before ducking between a stand, avoiding someone who looked like a pilot, and hurried up just as Mr Harrington was finishing the head-count.

“Hey Parker!” Peter tried not to roll his eyes as he spared the shortest of glances at Flash, “I heard you got stopped by customs. Shame you weren’t arrested.”

Peter ignored the jibe, grinning awkwardly at MJ, who smiled back.

And that made the whole almost-disaster worth it.

* * *

Because it was Venice, Mr Harrington had booked a boat to get the group from the airport to the hotel, rather than a coach. The up-side to the boat trip was that the route the boat took gave amazing views of Venice, and, even better, because of the seat positioning, Peter had the chance to just _observe_ MJ as she took in the sights. Not that he was staring at her, just… watching her watch everything.

The downside to the boat trip to the hotel was _arriving at the hotel_. Considering his last trip to Europe had been an Avengers-funded, all-expenses paid trip to Berlin, Peter had tried to temper his expectations to the funds of the school, and Mr Harrington’s online booking abilities, but still… the Hotel DeMatteis was… disappointing. The place was run-down, dirty, and, upon entering the place, Peter got the feeling that the building was sinking. There was almost half an inch of water on the floor.

Peter followed the rest of the class up the rickety staircase, not bothering to use the handrail. He had a good sense of balance anyway, and the handrail looked like it was the only thing holding up the staircase. He tried to cut through the crowd to steal a room beside Michelle and Betty – he assumed both he and Ned would prefer that – but grimaced when he realised that MJ had chosen the end room, and someone had already moved in to the room beside her. Peter felt his fists clench as he guessed who it might be. It seemed like Brad Davis was showing up wherever MJ was.


	6. Vacay and Violence in Venice

While the main stop in Venice was the Leonardo Da Vinci museum, they had a few hours to do what they wanted in Venice. Which was good, because Peter needed to find some time to stop off at a glassmaker’s shop and get the necklace for the Plan. He might also have a chance to talk with MJ a bit, although considering how she seemed to be hanging around with _Brad Davis_ all the time, that might be difficult.

_Stop being jealous._

Peter sighed and followed the rest of the group across… a quick glance at Google Maps identified it as Saint Mark’s Square, trying to make his way closer to MJ. He’d almost made it to her side, and then the group split up to find things to do, and Peter got dragged away by the tide of people. By the time he’d made his way around the side of the square, he’d lost sight of MJ, and Ned seemed to be busy getting a caricature drawn with Betty in front of the Basilica. Peter scanned the square again, hoping to find MJ alone, and his heart jumped when he saw her through a gap in the crowds, posing with _pigeons_ , of all things. He took a step forward, already thinking about what to say, before the crowd separated further. His grimaced in annoyance as he spotted Brad _fucking_ Davis squatting down to take a picture of her.

Peter sighed, shaking his head, and headed down a side-alley, looking for a glass-workers shop. After stopping a general trinket merchant and butchering the Italian phrase he’d learned before the flight, _Sai dove potrei trovare un vetraio?_ , then repeating the question in English, he got directions to a small, out-of-the-way shop, along with a short pronunciation lesson. He hesitated at the door, checking he had a picture of the kind of thing he was after on his phone, then stepped inside.

" _Buongiorno,_ ” Peter began, still fumbling with the language. He didn't know how MJ was so good at Italian.

" _Buongiorno!_ " The shopkeeper didn't seem in the slightest bit offended at his terrible pronunciation. The man was all smiles.

"Do you–?" Peter began to ask, before trailing off as the man nodded, pre-empting his question. Peter supposed he was used to tourists.

"I'm looking for a necklace," he explained, following the man over towards the jewellery section of the shop, "It's meant to be a Black Dahlia..." - which was ridiculously specific, now Peter thought about it, and the man probably wouldn't know what he was talking about - "But any black flower would work."

"Hmm..." was all the man said, quickly glancing at Peter's phone, which was showing the best photo Google had of the flower. The shopkeeper left him standing in the shop as he went into the back room, searching for something. Since Peter was there, he decided to have a look around at the other pieces that the man was selling.

It took Peter less than a minute to find the glass models of the Avengers. As always, his heart stuttered as he picked up the fine glass model of the Iron Man suit. He heard footsteps from the back room and hurriedly put the model down, wiping at his eyes.

“Fiore Nero.”

* * *

Peter was speechless. It was beautiful. Thin, semi-translucent black glass perfectly cut to form the outer petals, with a more opaque set of inner petals, and a bundle of white… his mind went blank for a moment, before he caught on an old biology lecture. Anther? The pollen bits? Peter suddenly realised he hadn’t responded to the glassmaker. He’d just been holding it up to the light and staring.

“I-It’s perfect.”

The old man smiled, but didn’t bother with false modesty. It _was_ perfect. Peter was fairly certain it was the most beautiful piece in the shop, but maybe he was biased.

“For a girl?”

Peter’s expression, and possibly the growing blush on his cheeks, must have answered the question, because the old man laughed, a surprisingly loud laugh that filled the shop. Peter instinctively felt himself smile.

“Yeah. For a girl. My class is doing a trip around Europe and I was thinking of taking her up to the Eiffel Tower in Paris and…” Peter wasn’t sure why he was spilling the entire plan out, but there was a look in the man’s eyes that made him trust him.

“Lucky girl,” was all he said.

Peter left the shop with a much lighter wallet, a much happier heart, and, in his opinion, the most important thing he’d ever carried. He’d asked the shopkeeper for the safest wrapping ever, and he’d got it. The necklace was resting on some light fabric, held in a small box, and gently placed in a paper bag, which he was holding as carefully as possible. He dodged a few tourists as he headed back towards the square.

“ _Boh_ ,” came a very familiar, and _very_ welcome voice from his left. Peter jumped, hiding the bag behind his back as subtly as he could, as he turned to face MJ, who seemed… different. More energetic. Happier. Then what she’d actually said made it into his brain, not that it made any sense.

“What?”

“ _Boh_ ,” MJ repeated, almost skipping down the steps to walk next to him, “It’s the most perfect word in the world and the Italians invented it and I just discovered it.” Peter blinked when he realised she hadn’t taken a breath for the entire sentence. She was definitely more energetic. He decided not to mention it. Didn’t want to seem like a creep.

“What does it mean?” he asked instead, in part to have something to say, but also because he was genuinely curious. MJ had a knack for discovering interesting things.

“That’s the thing,” MJ explained, “It can mean a million things. It can mean ‘I don’t know’, ‘Get out of my face’, ‘I don’t know _and_ get out of my face’. It’s the best thing Italy ever created, except for maybe expresso.” She laughed, and Peter smiled again. He guessed that explained the energy. 

“Oh, so you’ve been drinking expresso?”

“Meh,” MJ shrugged noncommittally, which Peter took to mean _Yes, lots_.

Suddenly, a vendor stepped in front of them, offering what looked to be a rose, wrapped in paper.

“American, yes?”

Peter glanced at MJ. Did this guy think they were a couple? Did they _look_ like a couple? _Were_ they a couple? It seemed weird to think, but he wouldn’t really put it past MJ to simply not tell Peter if they were dating, because _Wasn’t it obvious, dork?_ Or something. Or he was overthinking something yet again.

“ _Boh_ ,” MJ replied simply. She was _really_ proud of this new word.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. The merchant’s selling smile vanished from his face, and he lowered the offered flower, returning to his stall without another word. Peter was amazed.

“Woah.”

“ _Boh_ is my new superpower,” MJ quipped, offering him a half-smile, “It’s like the anti- _Aloha_. I was _born_ to say this word.”

Peter had to admit it _was_ a very MJ word. Time to start using it as often as he could!

“What’s in the bag?”

Peter froze. He’d thought he’d been subtle at hiding the bag, but he must have gotten distracted just by being close to MJ. He glanced down at it awkwardly.

“Oh. Uhh…” The solution came to him almost immediately. “ _Boh_.”

MJ gave him a Look.

“Nice.”

And with that, she moved on. Peter took a moment to just watch her, before hurrying to catch up to her. They crossed a bridge, and MJ stopped at a small canal-boat pier, squatting and pulling out her camera to take a photo of the mass of crabs on the side of the wooden planking. Peter just smiled at her enthusiasm, and managed to keep himself from instinctively looking away as she turned back to look up at him. The smile she gave him was a rare one, open and happy, before she turned back to the crabs.

Then Peter's ears popped. He frowned and looked down at the drain on the floor next to him, which was gurgling loudly. All around Venice they seemed to be almost full of water – something to do with balancing water levels or something – but this one was… losing the water. Rapidly. He glanced up, looking out into the water of the Grand Canal, and squinted, trying to see if there was anything out there. It _looked_ calm enough.

The Grand Canal erupted upwards in an explosion of water.

Peter swore internally as the gondola that Ned and Betty had taken onto the Grand Canal was flung towards him, landing heavily between Peter and MJ. Peter hurriedly helped his friends out of the gondola, then froze as the Canal seemed to take an almost humanoid form.

“What is that?” Ned asked him hurriedly.

“I don’t know,” admitted Peter. Just because he was an Avenger didn’t mean he knew what every alien was. Or even any of them. Was it even an alien?

“What are you gonna do?!” Ned was stressing out. Peter guessed there was a difference between being the Guy in the Chair, and being face to face with a monster made out of water. 

“I left my suit at the hotel room,” Peter admitted in a whisper.

“Why?!” Because wearing a suit under his vacation clothes in Venice would a) be really awkward and b) make him overheat? Also, most importantly:

“Because I’m on vacation, Ned!"

To be fair, a fairly minor issue, considering the fact that the vacation in question had just been interrupted by the arrival of a water monster.

"Everyone’s going to see my face. Just get them out of here!”

The water monster – alien or not – was _furious_ , swinging around at buildings, smashing its fists down onto a ferry. It seemed determined to do as much damage as it could. Peter stumbled backwards, diving out of the way as a fist of water slammed into where he was standing only a second before. Peter took cover behind a couple of boxes, then slapped his wrists together, activating the Stark tech that configured his web-shooters around his wrists. Just because he didn’t have his suit didn’t mean he was _completely_ unprepared. He took a deep breath, trying to emotionally switch from Peter Parker, schoolboy-with-a-crush to Spider-Man, Avenger-who-fought-Thanos. He leaped up from his hiding space and fired a web at the monster, then paused and felt like an idiot as he watched the web simply get swept away by the water. _How would webs help?_ The monster seemed to have his attention caught by something, and Peter turned towards screams coming from – a fragment of MJ's commentary reminded him - the Rialto bridge, which was hurriedly emptying of people.

Peter realised what the water monster was planning to do, and swore under his breath.

“Oh no you _don’t_.”

He took off at a run, sprinting up a damaged staircase before hopping over the mooring poles instinctively. He knew if he focused on jumping from one to the other, he’d probably mess it up and fall in the river which would be a) incredibly embarrassing, b) incredibly unhygienic, and c) absolutely no help to the civilians threatened by the water monster. He landed on the roof of a barge and then, as the water swell pushed the barge up, sprang off it, landing neatly in front of a cowering woman. He helped her up and directed her towards one of the stairs, before turning just in time to be swept across the bridge by a fist of water. He took a moment to let the air get back into his lungs, then pushed himself to his feet, just in time to hear a whirring sound and a flash of green. He turned towards the sound and saw a figure flying towards the monster, followed by a trail of green smoke.

Peter looked around while the monster was distracted with the new arrival, and spotted a Venetian mask on the floor where it had been knocked by the monster's attack. _Not much, but better than nothing._ He snatched it up and started to climb onto the roof of the bridge.

Whoever this newcomer was, they were doing fairly well to hold off the water monster on alone, using some sort of magic… stuff.

“Excuse me, sir?” Peter yelled as the figure got near. Peter assumed the person was a man, although considering the fish-bowl of a helmet, MJ would probably have bitten his head off about patriarchal assumptions of masculine dominance in heroics, or… something. The armour _looked_ masculine, that’s all Peter was going to say. “I can help! Let me help!” Peter had to explain his abilities quickly, and his web-shooters were useless. “I’m really strong and I’m… sticky.” Not his most eloquent moment, but he assumed the guy would take any help he could get.

“I need to lead it away from the canals!” Well, that made sense. Peter assumed a water monster would be more powerful when connected to water. Not that he had any experience with water monsters. It was just common sense.

With that, the figure – almost certainly male by the voice, so it _wasn’t_ a patriarchal assumption of… _whatever_ – retreated down one of the side-streets, trying to lead the monster away. The monster in question smashed the roof of the bridge, forcing Peter to hurriedly backflip onto one of the other canopies, where he paused to watch the monster follow… whoever he was. 

Peter swung to the roof of a building nearby, following the trail of destruction, water, and screams that hero and monster left in their wake. He realised the front of one of the buildings was starting to collapse and fall forwards, and instinctively zipped through it, webbing it up to hold it in place, trying to minimise the damage.

He took up the chase, barely skidded to a stop on a roof overlooking a smaller square, then groaned to himself as he noticed the clock tower was starting to collapse.

“Oh, _come on!_ ” He threw himself over to the tower, circling it and wrapping the most damaged parts in webbing to give it some support, then attached the webbing to another building to hold it upright. Without Karen to scan for weak-points, he was playing the entire thing by eye, but he’d gotten good at judging structural stability and weak-points in the months since he’d started, and when it seemed mostly stable, he landed next to the clock-tower’s bell to watch the fight and catch his breath. The mysterious hero was circling the monster, firing blasts of green… plasma, maybe? He was clearly antagonising it, trying to keep its attention on him, and avoiding its attacks. Suddenly, one of the monster’s attacks connected with the clock tower’s base, Peter’s webbing snapped, and the whole building started to fall. Peter steadied himself and fired webbing at the two buildings on either side of the tower, then sighed, realising he’d have to hold the tower in place himself. Another strike must have hit the tower, and Peter stumbled forwards, slamming his head into the heavy metal rim of the bell.

Peter groaned softly, trying to dim the ringing in his already sensitive ears, the bright spots in his eyes, and most of all, the ache in his head. And then he realised he was flat on his back, and the tower was falling. The webs he’d fired somehow hadn’t disconnected, and he’d trained himself to keep hold of his webs even when injured, so they dragged him along the floor. Or, more accurately, they held him in place as the floor moved underneath him. Instinctively, his feet gripped the floor, and the falling of the tower pulled him upright, right into the bell again. Peter choked back a groan, trying not to throw up as his head spun. Even with his super-healing, he was going to have a headache for a long time.

He fired two more webs which, thanks to some absurd good fortune, attached to the buildings nearby, and he slid towards the corner pillar of the clock tower’s bell-room. Straining against the webs and pillar, he tried to hold the entire tower up through sheer force of will. He _really_ hoped the fight was going to be over soon. A roar came from what Peter assumed was the monster, loud even over the sound of fighting, shaking the ground, and the tower slid slightly, the bottom of the fallen tower grinding against what was once its base. Peter groaned as the movement put even more pressure on his muscles, and then a blast rippled across the square. This last impact was too much, and Peter’s grip on his webs failed as he slipped in and out of unconsciousness, falling with the tower to crash into the ground below.

* * *

It took a moment for Peter to properly come to and pull himself out of the rubble of the fallen clock-tower. He brushed himself off, then his hand stopped on the lump of the necklace box in his pocket, and his heart dropped further than the clock-tower had. He hurriedly pulled the box out of his pocket and opened it gently. He lifted the necklace, checking it all over for any damage, then let out a long sigh of relief. It was okay.


	7. Mysterio and Meetings

Peter was glad to see that all of his class-mates had made it back to the hotel. Even Flash and Brad, he supposed, rather generously in his opinion. Obviously, the only subject of discussion was the giant water monster’s appearance. The class had all bunched together in the communal area of the hotel, avoiding the puddles of water and watching a news report on the attack on the small and outdated television, while everyone looked up different theories online. That was one positive about the hotel. Free Wi-Fi! Not particularly _fast_ Wi-Fi, but still, free.

“It’s aliens. It has to be!” Ned had found his theory, and was determinedly sticking to it, trawling through conspiracy – sorry, _believer_ – websites to find proof, while Flash was trying to make the case for _BuzzFeed_ ’s theory.

“ _BuzzFeed_ says there’s a sailor named Morris Bench who was exposed to an experimental underwater generator and got hydro-powers.”

“Yeah, you should definitely believe everything you read on the internet.”

Peter was a little surprised that MJ hadn’t gotten involved with the theory debate. She was… not necessarily a conspiracy _theorist_ , but she was definitely _interested_ in conspiracy theories. How much she believed them, and how much she read up about them for fun, Peter had no idea. Of course, he’d gotten super-powers after being bitten by a radioactive spider, so he supposed he should stop being so cynical about stuff like that.

“Spider-Man could take him,” Flash responded defensively. Peter wasn’t entirely sure. He’d been more use as clean-up, and even that he’d messed up.

“Are you guys coming home?” May’s voice distracted him. He probably shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on his classmates while on the phone.

“No, no, no! We want to stay!”

“It’s a good thing that I packed your suit, huh? I can’t believe you forgot it.”

Peter tried not to grimace.

“Yeah,” he said. _Not really_ , he thought.

“So who was that guy you were with? Was that Mister Strange?”

“ _Doctor_ Strange, May,” Peter corrected, for what felt like the hundredth time, “ _Doctor_ Strange. And, um, no. I-I don’t know who that was. He was a new guy. I was trying to help him, but–”

May cut him off, shouting a “Happy, that’s _my_ lunch! Don’t eat that one,” down the line.

Peter frowned. _Happy?_

“Happy’s there?”

“Yeah, it’s Happy. He’s here. He came by to volunteer. And, uh, he’s hanging around the office.”

Peter’s frown deepened. _Hanging around the office?_

“Anyway, he wants to say hi!”

“I d-Hi Peter,” came the rather unwilling-sounding voice of Happy.

“… Hey, Happy…” Peter replied, still not sure what to make of it.

“I’m sorry, I’m working real hard here. I’ve got to do a-a leaflet drop.” Well, that was an obvious lie if ever Peter had heard one. Almost worse than the pet goldfish one Ned came up with. _Almost._

“What are you doing…?” Peter began to ask, before Happy cut him off.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having a good time. Don’t worry, I’m really taking care of your aunt.”

_What. The. F–_

“So, how’s the Plan going?” May somehow knew exactly how to change the conversation. Peter instinctively searched for MJ, but couldn’t see her, and his eyes locked onto Brad.

“It’s been going… okay. A few setbacks, but…”

“Don’t overthink it,” came the advice, which Peter knew was great advice that he would never, _ever_ , follow. “Just trust your instincts and you’ll be fine.”

Peter’s instincts were telling him to find MJ, take her outside, and tell her everything. And he meant _everything_. The Crush, the Plan, Spider-Man.

“I know,” Peter replied half-heartedly, “Love you. Bye.”

Peter hung up, sighing heavily, and headed towards the rest of the group.

“He’s alright,” Flash was saying dismissively, “He’s no Spider-Man.”

Peter tried not to smirk at that. Flash’s obsession with Spider-Man was actually pretty hilarious, considering he’d been bullying the guy for their entire time at school.

“What is it with you and Spider-Man?” came MJ’s voice from just to Peter’s left.

“What?” Flash’s reply was defensive. He took even perceived insults to Spider-Man very personally, something which Peter and Ned had spent _ages_ laughing over, “He’s just awesome, okay. He protects the neighbourhood, and, you know, he’s just inspiring. He inspires me to be a better man.”

Peter couldn’t help but scoff at that. Internally, of course.

“’Sup, dickwad?” came Flash’s significantly less respectful voice, as he noticed Peter’s arrival, “Thought you’d drowned.”

Peter swallowed his smile at the irony and leant against the bannister at the foot of the stairs, where MJ was sat.

“Sounds like his name’s Mysterio,” Brad commented as the news reporter continued her piece.

“ _L’uomo di mistero_ is Italian for ‘man of mystery’,” MJ corrected dismissively, “They don’t actually know who he is.”

Peter grinned. Whether he was grinning at MJ being cool, or at her correcting Brad, even _he_ wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe he was _a little bit_ petty.

“Mysterio,” Ned said dramatically. There was a pause, as everyone thought on the name.

“Cool name,” Ned and Betty said at the same time, then, realising they’d copied each other, “Babe!”

Peter pointedly ignored the sappy romance, glancing at MJ. He could just imagine her reaction to him calling her _babe_. It would probably be a blank stare that made him reconsider living in America.

“So, how much of that did you actually see?” he asked her, gesturing to the TV, which was still running clips of the newly-named Mysterio fighting the water monster.

“Not much,” came the ‘are-you-an-idiot’ reply, “I was… _running_.”

_Oh, yeah._

“Right. Me too,” Peter hurriedly agreed, “I was also running.” Then, to clarify, he added, “Away.”

_Smooth, Parker._

“So, uh, Paris tomorrow,” Peter said, trying to change the conversation to slightly safer territory, “Could go to the Eiffel tower. Should be great.” God, Peter felt like an idiot. Although he usually did while talking to MJ. And while around MJ. And while talking _about_ MJ. And, to be perfectly honest, while _thinking_ about MJ… which was most of the time.

“I read that it was secretly built as a mind-control antenna to create an army of the insane.”

Peter blinked. And there was the interest in conspiracy theories. If Peter was perfectly honest, he found it cute, in a… slightly weird, sort of dorky way. He really didn’t know what to say in response to it, though.

“Oh.”

There was a pause, then MJ looked up at him, grinning her usual half-smile.

“Which is why it’s my favourite destination on the whole trip.”

Peter’s heart jumped and he grinned. _Perfect_. He couldn’t have planned Part 4 of the Plan any better.

He realised he’d just been grinning at MJ for a good few seconds, and hurriedly looked at the TV, struggling to get his expression under control.

It was only when he headed to the room he was sharing with Ned that he realised that MJ had just been smiling at him for those few seconds, too.

* * *

“What are you going to do about the water monster?!”

Peter blinked at Ned’s rather aggressive questioning as soon as they entered the room, then he shrugged, smiling in relief. It simply wasn’t his problem.

“Nothing. It’s dead. And besides, that Mysterio guy’s all over it!” Peter exclaimed, heading for his bed, “Look, I just want to spend some time with MJ. We were talking about Paris, and…” he paused to turn and shrug at Ned, “I think she really likes me.” His heart still jumped every time he thought that thought. Every time he dreamed that dream. Every time… he was starting to sound like a musical. Was he about to burst into a soliloquy song about how MJ might, possibly, like him back? _Perhaps._

“That’s nice,” Ned replied, in his absurd I’m-wise-about-relationships way that he’d begun to affect since starting to date Betty, “It reminds me of when Betty and I first fell in love…”

Peter had to admit he started to tune out Ned’s reminiscence of what happened _literally that morning_. Or possibly last night. Time zones always messed with his head. He started to brush his teeth, then tensed and turned towards the sound of a body falling onto a bed. Ned was unconscious, and Peter’s heightened vision could make out a dart sticking out of his neck. He looked into the corner of the room and froze.

“You’re a very difficult person to contact, Spider-Man.”

Nick Fury was sat in a chair in the corner of Peter’s bedroom.

Peter removed the toothbrush from his mouth and said, rather unnecessarily, “You’re Nick Fury.” He looked over at the piled body of his best friend. “And you just shot Ned!”

“Just a mild tranquilliser. He’ll be all right,” Fury explained dismissively. “It’s so _good_ to finally meet you. I saw you at the funeral but I didn’t think that would be a good time to exchange numbers.”

“No, that would have been really inappropriate,” replied Peter immediately, before realising it was probably sarcastic. It always took him a while to get different people’s sense of humour and sarcasm.

“That’s what I just said.”

“Right.” This conversation was _very_ strange. Especially since he was just in his pyjamas.

“The important thing is, you’re here. I tried to bring you here, you avoided me, and now, you’re here. What a coincidence.”

“Wait…” Peter frowned, “ _Was_ this a coincidence?”

That definitely sounded like a stupid question, which was probably why Fury didn’t bother to answer it.

“I used to know _everything_. Then I come back five years later, and now, I know nothing,” Fury explained, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, “No intel, no team, and a _high-school kid_ is dodging my calls.”

Peter swallowed. So, Fury had figured out it was intentional. Oops.

“Here’s what I _do_ know,” Fury said, leaning forwards and placing a micro-projector on the table in front of him. It instantly lit up, projecting a hologram of Earth. “A week ago, a village in Mexico was wiped out by a cyclone.” The hologram showed the village, surrounded by images of the destruction, “Witnesses say that cyclone had a face.”

 _Like the water monster._ Peter swallowed nervously. There were _more_?

The silence in the room was broken by a loud snore from Ned. Peter and Fury both jumped, looking over at the piled body.

“Three days later,” Fury continued, ignoring the snoring. Peter followed his lead and looked back at the hologram, “A similar event in Morocco. A village was – ”

This time, Fury was interrupted by Mr Harrington knocking on the door. Peter saw Fury draw his dart gun and hurriedly straightened and stepped forwards to stop his teacher coming any further into the room. He didn’t want to know what Fury would do to keep his presence a secret.

“Just making the rounds, seeing if anyone needs emotional counselling after today’s traumatic events.” The words seemed like they were being read off a script. They probably were. The school had, according to rumours, introduced crisis scripts for teachers to help students deal with the increasing likelihood of being caught in some dramatic event. Peter caught Fury raising his gun out of the corner of his eye and tried to find a way to get his teacher out of the way.

“No, we’ll be okay, we’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“Great,” Mr. Harrington replied, “because I’m not qualified to-to actually – ” Harrington’s rambling was interrupted by another snore from Ned. “Oh, he’s passed out. Not really qualified to do it anyway, so, goodnight!”

And with that, finally, Mr Harrington left, closing the door behind him.

“That was my teacher,” Peter explained to Fury, who looked rather annoyed, “Sorry. You were saying?”

“A village was destroyed by what well may be another world-threatening – ”

“Babe, you still awake? You’re not answering any of my texts.” Oh God, _Betty_ was outside. Had Peter’s life become a comedy sketch?

“Uhm. He’s asleep, Betty!” Peter called through the door.

“Oh, already?”

Peter looked at Fury’s expression and grimaced.

“Mhm. Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Peter listened to her footsteps get quieter as she left.

“That’s why it’s imperative – ”

More knocking. Fury looked, well, absolutely furious.

“Hey, boys!” Peter groaned. _Mr Dell_. “That canal water today was filled with dangerous bacteria – ”

“Another person touches that door,” Fury interrupted in a deadly whisper, “you and I are going to attend another funeral.”

Peter gulped and nodded, already reaching for his bag.

“Suit up.”

* * *

Peter probably shouldn’t have been surprised that Nick Fury could commandeer a boat. That was probably the _least_ of what he could get access to.

The two of them were stood together as Fury easily directed the speedboat across the Grand Canal.

“Stark left these for you,” Fury said suddenly, offering a small leather case.

“Really?” Peter asked. Even having been trying to get over Tony’s death, he still hesitated before taking the case. He opened it carefully, and blinked, suit eyepieces tightening to give a better view of the glasses. They looked very… _Tony_ , sort of a weird mixture of smart and informal.

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” Peter blinked away tears – luckily hidden under the mask, and looked at Fury, who was appraising him carefully, “Stark said you wouldn’t get that because it’s not a _Star Wars_ reference.”

Peter tried not to let out an embarrassing sob, and simply focused on where the speedboat was going. He had to keep distracted. Where were they headed? Somewhere underground?

The speedboat finally pulled into a pier almost hidden in the sewers. Peter climbed out carefully and followed Fury through the tunnels.

“Lose the mask. Everyone here’s seen you without it. You don’t need to be feigning anonymity and breathing through spandex for no good reason.”

Peter hesitated briefly before pulling the mask off. If Nick Fury said it was safe to remove his mask, it was probably as safe as possible.

It looked like they were in the sewers, but the place was filled with technology. Data-banks, hologram projectors, all sorts of computers.

“Here we have Maria Hill,” Fury said, nodding at a rather serious-looking woman working at a computer, before turning to an even more serious-looking man, although some of that seriousness might have come from the heavy sniper-rifle he was loading.

“This is Dimitri.” The man didn’t look away from his gun, but cocked it pointedly.

“And this,” Fury finished, gesturing to the final figure in the room, “is Mister Beck.”

“Mysterio?” The name had slipped out before he’d had a chance to think. But there he was. In the flesh. And the cape. Without the fishbowl. He had a fairly close-cut beard, short black hair, and a kind face.

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Peter said hurriedly, “It’s… it’s just what my friends have been calling you.”

“Well, _you_ can call me Quentin,” the man replied, walking forward and offering his hand to shake. Peter shook it enthusiastically.

“You handled yourself well out there today,” Quentin said, smiling, “I saw what you did with the tower. We could use someone like you on my world.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, before the full meaning of what the man had said sunk in. “I’m sorry, ‘ _your world_ ’?”

“Oh, Mister Beck _is_ from Earth,” Fury explained, “Just not yours.”

“There are multiple realities, Peter,” Beck explained simply, “This is Earth, dimension 616. I’m from Earth-833.”

Peter’s mind spun.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, hurrying forward, “You’re saying there’s a _multiverse_?” The consequences span around his head like a whirlwind. “Because I thought that was just _theoretical_. I mean it completely changes how we understand the initial singularity. We’re talking about an-an internal inflation system, and – how does that even work with all the quantum con–”

Peter realised he’d been rambling for too long when he turned and saw Fury and Hill all-but-staring at him.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly, stuttering to a stop, “It’s just really cool.”

“Don’t ever apologise for being the smartest one in the room,” Quentin said pointedly. Peter grinned at that, but he heard Hill scoff.

“Anyway,” she said pointedly, hitting a few buttons on a computer and bringing up a hologram of what looked like a black hole. Or, the swirling light around a black hole.

“They were born in stable orbits within black holes,” Quentin began to explain, “Creatures formed from Primary Elements. Air, Water, Fire, and Earth. The science division had a technical name, we just called them Elementals.”

“Versions of them exist across our mythologies,” Hill interjected, bringing up some examples on the projector.

“Turns out the myths are real,” Beck replied.

“Like Thor,” Peter said immediately. Everyone looked at him, so he explained. “Thor was a myth, and now I study him in my physics class.”

“ _These_ myths,” Fury said, coming towards the table, “are threats.” Beck nodded and took over the briefing.

“They first materialised on my Earth many years ago. We mobilised and fought them, but with each battle they grew… Got stronger.” Peter could see the anguish in his face as he watched the hologram display the destruction of the alternative Earth, “I was part of the last battalion left trying to stop them. All we did was delay the inevitable.”

“The Elementals are here, now.” Hill took over as Quentin stopped for a moment, evidently reliving the pain. “They’re attacking the same coordinates. Our satellites confirm it.”

“You can thank Mister Beck for destroying the other three,” Fury said, “There’s only one left. Fire.”

Quentin swallowed.

“The strongest of them all. The one that destroyed my Earth. It’s the one that took my family.”

Peter saw Quentin rub at a wedding ring, and let out a breath. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like.

“I-I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough, but it was all he could think of.

“And it’ll be in Prague in approximately forty-eight hours,” Hill said pointedly, looking at Fury.

“We have one mission. Kill it.” Fury looked at Peter. “You’re coming with us.”

Peter hesitated.

“I’m sorry, did you say Prague?” he asked, laughing uncertainly, “Listen, Fury, this all seems like big time, huge, superhero stuff. And…” Peter glanced between the hard looks of Fury and Hill, “I mean, I’m just the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man… sir,” he finished, as respectfully as he could.

Fury looked at him blankly.

“Bitch, please. You’ve been to space.”

“I know, but… that was an accident, and it didn’t exactly end well for me! Sir, come on, there’s _got_ to be someone else you can use! What about Thor?”

“Off-world.” _Crap._

“Okay, um, Doctor Strange?”

“Unavailable,” Hill responded, not looking up from her computer screen.

“Captain Marvel?”

“Don’t invoke her name.”

Peter gulped at the expression on Fury’s face.

“Sir, look. I really want to help. I do. But if my aunt finds out I left my class trip, she’s going to kill me. And if I’m seen like this,” Peter rushed out, gesturing to his suit, “after Washington Monument? My whole class will figure out who I am, and then…” he gestured uncertainly, “And then the whole world will figure out who I am, and then I’m done.”

There was a pause.

“Okay. I understand.”

Peter was surprised. He really wasn’t expecting Fury to just… let him off the mission, although Peter supposed Fury understood the importance of secret identities, especially for him. But still, was it that easy?

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t you get back before your teachers _miss you_ , and become _suspicious_?” Fury’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and disappointment, and Peter felt a flare of embarrassment and shame. Before he could say anything, Fury turned away.

“Dimitri! Take him back to the hotel, please.”

Maybe that was for the best.

“Thank you, Mister Fury,” Peter said, already following the man, “And, er… Good luck.”

Peter paused next to Beck. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“See ya, kid,” Beck said kindly, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah… see ya.”

And that was it. He left the three of them, crowded around a table, planning a superhero mission.


	8. Prague (Not Paris)

Peter was happy. Happy and relaxed. He had the pressure of Nick Fury off his back, Mysterio was dealing with the Fire Elemental in Prague, and the group was going to Paris. Step 4 of the Plan was almost done. _It’s my favourite destination on the whole trip_. MJ’s comment kept ringing around his head, and whenever he closed his eyes, he could see her smile. God, he really was absolutely whipped.

Peter slipped out of the door to the hotel, carrying his suitcase easily. Hopefully the Paris hotel would be better. And the Eiffel tower definitely wasn’t closed. And he could stick close to MJ so he could get the room next to hers. He stepped into the street and immediately spotted Ned.

“Hey, man, are you sure you’re good?” Peter still wasn’t sure what the after-effects of Fury’s tranquilliser were, especially with the added threat of bacterial infection from the Canal water. Ned waved off his concern.

“Dude, I’m fine! Okay, don’t worry! Seriously, getting tranqued in the neck by Nick Fury is _probably_ the coolest thing that’ll ever happen to me anyway.”

“It is pretty awesome,” Peter had to agree, “I’m just happy I don’t have to go to Prague.”

“Good news,” Mr Harrington called as he left the hotel, walking past the two of them towards the main group, “We’re going to Prague!”

Peter’s stomach dropped. He really did jinx everything.

“What?”

Even if they didn’t know what was really happening, the rest of the class seemed to know _something_ was happening. There was more confusion than there was excitement. Peter was neither confused, nor excited.

“The tour company called. They upgraded us!”

Peter winced. _Tour company_ , huh. That was _way_ too much of a coincidence. Despite his quickly souring mood, he had to follow the class as they headed towards the new coach that the ‘tour company’ had provided. This was bad. _Very_ bad.

Peter’s already low mood dropped even further when he saw the driver of the ‘upgraded ride’. Dimitri. Peter swore under his breath.

Ned glanced at him in shock.

“Peter, what’s going on?”

Peter decided truth was the best idea.

“I think Nick Fury just hijacked our summer vacation.”

* * *

Peter was, as usual, at the back of the coach. This time, however, he was fairly happy with it, just because it kept him away from Dimitri, although at the cost of putting him further from MJ than he would have liked. And, of course, Brad _fucking_ Davis was sat next to her. Because _of course_ he was. The day just couldn’t – Peter hurriedly stopped that thought dead in it’s tracks. _Hopefully_ it wasn’t a complete thought, so it wouldn’t count for jinxing… Peter didn’t hold out much hope. The Old Parker Luck wasn’t one to be beaten by incomplete thoughts.

Peter was trying to distract himself by looking up romantic places to go in Prague. He obviously couldn’t do the big confession at the top of the Eiffel tower now – even more than forcing him to face a fire monster from another dimension, _that_ was what Nick Fury had done that annoyed him the most – so… Charles Bridge? Maybe? Peter sighed and shook his head. He was going about it all wrong, he knew that much. MJ wasn’t _romantic_. She was… well, MJ. Hilariously deadpan, interested in social justice, conspiracy theories, and… a little morbidly interested in death. Then, Peter was hit with a flash of inspiration. He opened Google.

_Charles Bridge Prague death_

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the most eloquently worded Google search, but… Peter raised an eyebrow at the results. He clicked the first slightly-relevant one and started to read, eyebrows going higher at each sentence.

 _…pact with the Devil… death penalty… heads of traitors…_ It might not have been an antenna to create an army of the insane, but it was definitely up MJ’s street. He saved the page to reread a few times, then his gaze almost unwillingly slid past the phone to land on the glasses case on the top of his bag. He sighed, locking his phone and dropping it on his lap, before reaching down to carefully pull the glasses case out. He hesitated, holding it in his hands, before he marshalled his courage and opened the lid. He swallowed around the lump in his throat at the _Stark Industries_ logo imprinted on the inside of the case, and picked the glasses up, turning them in his hands as he unfolded them, before slipping them onto his face. He hoped he didn’t look _too_ dorky, although he wasn’t sure if even glasses could make him look any more of a dork than he already did.

Peter looked down and spotted a piece of paper that had fallen out of the case. He picked it up carefully and read it – at least the glasses didn’t seem to mess with his already perfect vision.

_For the next Tony Stark, I trust you P.S. Say Edith – TS_

Peter’s stomach did a back-flip. _The next Tony Stark._ Was that supposed to be him? Tony had left the glasses for him, so it certainly _seemed_ like it. But could he do that? Could he – ?

Peter could sense he was starting to spiral again, and he focused on the last bit of the note. _Say Edith._

A quick glance around the bus confirmed that no one was paying attention to him – even Ned was distracted by Betty – so he thought it worth a shot.

“Edith?” he said softly.

A moment later, a flicker of light appeared on the glasses. Peter let out a breath in surprise. _Holy shit._ The glasses were an AR headset.

_“Standby for retinal and biometric scan.”_

Peter blinked at the voice. It was almost as if it was being beamed directly into his brain. _Was it?_ It took him almost ten seconds to figure it out. _Bone vibration audio speakers in the glasses’ legs_ … _arms?_ Peter was, as always, stunned at how advanced Stark tech was compared to its competitors. Bone vibration headphones had never been as good quality as ordinary headphones, but the glasses were giving him crisp audio without even pressing noticeably against his skull. It was _incredible_. He’d bet good money that no one else could hear it, as well, which was normally a major failing in ordinary bone vibration speakers, and probably a major design flaw in a disguised headset with what seemed like an AI installed.

 _“Hello, Peter.”_ Well, _that_ was seriously cool. _“I am E.D.I.T.H, Tony Stark’s augmented reality security and defence system.”_

“Huh,” was all Peter could think to say. _Security and defence?_ “So he made you for me?”

_“No, but you have access to all of Tony’s protocols.”_

That sounded interesting.

_“Would you like to see what I could do?”_

“Yes _please_ ,” Peter whispered. This would be an interesting bus ride.

 _“E.D.I.T.H stands for Even Dead, I’m The Hero,”_ EDITH explained. Peter smiled wryly. _“Tony loved his acronyms.”_

“Yeah, he did.”

_“I have access to the entire Stark Global Security network, including multiple defence satellites, as well as backdoors to all major communication networks.”_

Peter’s eyes widened as the screens of the glasses brought up… AR representations of his classmate’s phone screens. _Holy shit._

He instinctively scanned the bus, just to see how quickly it could load.

“Woah,” then, he saw one person who didn’t seem to be showing up. “Is MJ texting?” he asked instinctively. Before EDITH could answer, he corrected himself.

“No. Don’t look at it. That’s-that’s wrong.”

Peter looked over at Ned and Betty, sat next to him, to distract himself, and tried not to laugh as their texts came up.

_Miss you. - +1 (929) 156 1829 (Phone registered to Leeds, Ned)_

_Miss you more. +1 (718) 412 6113 (Phone registered to Brant, Betty)_

They were sat _right next to each other_. Peter shook his head in amusement.

As the bus slowed to a stop, Peter realised they must be having a pit-stop, and hurriedly removed the glasses and put them back into the case, slotting it carefully into his bag. He stood up almost as soon as the door opened, trying to catch up to MJ, and his phone fell off his lap. He’d gotten so distracted by EDITH that he’d completely forgotten about his _ordinary_ technology. He leant down to grab his phone, and by then there was a queue. Even Ned and Betty were in front of him. Peter picked up his bag, trying not to get too downhearted about it. Maybe he’d catch her during the stop and ask if she wanted to sit next to him. If not, he always had EDITH to tinker with. Not that he’d be tinkering with MJ, just…

Peter jogged down the steps off the coach, then stopped as Dimitri held out a hand, blocking his path to follow the others. _Damn it._

The man didn’t say anything, simply gestured towards an out-of-the-way building with an ajar door. Peter sighed. Best to get it over and done with.

* * *

The person in the room was not who Peter had expected to see. Firstly, it wasn’t Nick Fury, although he doubted Nick Fury would hang out in a… wherever this was. But also, he didn’t even _know_ this woman.

“Hello,” Peter said, slightly uncertainly.

“Close the door.” He supposed there would be no pleasantries. How very much like SHIELD. Peter swung the door closed and swallowed, walking up to her.

“Um, I’m Peter Parker.”

“Take off your clothes.” Peter blanched. _What?_

“E-excuse me?”

“You told Fury that Spider-Man cannot be seen in Europe,” the woman said simply, before lifting a plain black suit out of a bag, “So I made you this. Another suit.” She offered the suit to him.

“Oh,” Peter said. _Damn Fury, always solving excuses_. “Uh… Thank you.”

He took the suit, still feeling awkward.

“I’m sure it fits fine. I don’t really need to – ”

“Take off your clothes.”

Peter swallowed, then sighed. It was going to be horribly awkward, but hopefully the woman’s impartial and disinterested expression would help his nerves. Peter doubted it. He put the suit to one side, dropped his bag on the floor, and, feeling like an idiot, started to unbuckle his trousers. _This is so embarrassing_.

“Hurry up!”

The woman was _incredibly_ impatient, although Peter wanted to get it over and done with as quickly as possible as well. He hurriedly dropped his trousers. And then the Ole Parker Luck struck again, as, of _all_ the people in the rest stop, Brad _fucking_ Davis happened to walk in.

There was a moment’s awkward pause. Peter could not imagine what Brad was thinking.

“Uh… sorry? I thought this was the bathroom.”

“This is not what it looks like!” Peter said hurriedly, trying to pull his trousers up. What excuse could he _possibly_ come up w–

The click of a phone camera stopped his thoughts in their tracks.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked as Brad turned to go, “No, wait – ”

Peter wasn’t sure if it was watching action movies so much, or his numerous close encounters with handguns, but he immediately recognised the sound of a gun being drawn. He immediately placed himself between the woman and Brad’s retreating figure. One one hand, killing him _would_ stop the embarrassment of Brad having that photo, but on the other, _killing a classmate_?! Seriously, what was it with SHIELD agents and being ready to kill people at the drop of a hat?

“Brad!” he called, zipping up his trousers and snatching up his bag as he ran after his classmate, “it’s not what it looks like!”

“Peter, look. I’m not here to judge your life choices, dude. If you wanna hook up with some random European chick on our school trip – ” Peter was kind of impressed at how nice Brad was being about it, apart from the _taking a photo_ , but the humiliation of the misunderstanding rankled him.

“That’s not what that was, honestly!” Brad ignored his excuse with the disbelieving expression that, to be honest, Peter would probably use in the same situation.

“I can’t pretend I didn’t see what I just saw,” _Yes you can_ , Peter shouted internally, _it’s easy!_ “I know you’re trying to get with MJ. It’s obvious. I like her too…”

Peter froze. _Shit_. Was Brad trying to blackmail him? Or… A much worse thought occurred to him.

“Wait a minute…” Peter laughed nervously, “You cannot show her that photo, dude, come on!” Brad shrugged as if the decision was hard for him.

“I’m sorry dude, I have to. She deserves the truth.”

 _What truth?_ Peter’s mind yelled, but Brad was already walking away, back towards the rest of the class, which was already preparing to get back on the coach.

“Okay! We’re moving out, guys!”

Peter’s heart sank. And then, he had an idea.

* * *

Peter was, as usual, the last one on the coach. This time, he’d ended up at the front, which meant he couldn’t exactly keep an eye on Brad – at the back – without looking obvious. He knew the boy would be preparing to show MJ the photo. He had one way to deal with this. It was time to put his plan into action. He opened the case and slipped on the glasses, taking a deep breath, and pausing for the barest of moments before activating the AI to figure out how to word his request.

“EDITH?”

_“Hello Peter. How may I h–?”_

“Can you delete a photo off someone’s phone?” Peter rushed out in a whisper, cutting over the welcoming message.

_“Of course. Whose phone would you like to delete the picture from?”_

“A guy on my trip. Uh, Brad-Brad Davis. He’s got an incriminating picture of me and he’ll show it to – ” Peter’s nervous rambling stopped dead as what looked like Brad Davis’ entire phone storage unfolded itself in front of his eyes. _Thousands_ of photos.

“Holy shit,” Peter muttered, a little taken aback at how _easy_ EDITH made hacking phones. “Uhh… Just photos taken in the last hour?” Peter asked uncertainly. He hadn’t had enough time with EDITH to properly assess her capabilities, or what type of commands worked best.

_“Displaying all photos on the smartphone registered to Brad Davis taken in the last hour.”_

The sea of images faded away, leaving only four or five icons.

“Uhh… show me the bottom right one?” he asked, trying to squint. Immediately it enlarged. Bingo.

“That one. Delete it. Quickly!” Peter hadn’t even finished the last word when the response came back, much calmer than his nervous commands.

_“Image deleted from phone. Would you like me to check cloud storage?”_

“Yes, please,” Peter said, before remembering something, “And can you check any, like… ‘recently deleted’ albums on… well, his phone, and cloud storage, and… anything else I’m forgetting?”

 _“Of course, Peter.”_ And then, a breathless moment later, _“All copies of the image have been erased.”_

Peter let out a long, relieved breath.

“Thank y–”

“Hey loser, dope glasses.” Peter felt a hand pluck the glasses off his face. _Flash_. “How’d you pay for these?”

“Flash, give them back,” Peter said firmly. He could _not_ lose the EDITH glasses. They were too important. Just _losing_ the access device to global security? Not exactly up to the standards of ‘the next Tony Stark’.

“Come on, they look better on me!”

Peter glared at him, trying to grab the glasses off him while the bus turned a sharp corner. He slipped off his chair, his reach over-extended, and, mostly-accidentally… well, _at least 30%_ accidentally, he punched Flash in the face, knocking him out cold. _Oops_ , Peter thought half-heartedly, reclaiming the glasses from Flash’s snoring face.

Peter stood up, slipping the glasses back on and sighing as he saw EDITH had automatically turned off. At least Flash didn’t know Peter had AI glasses.

“Did you just punch Flash in the face?” came an almost-whisper from behind him. Peter turned to look at Ned and Betty, who were both staring at him. Ned looked like he was trying not to cheer. Peter carefully sank into his seat.

“N-no,” he said awkwardly, “I… think he suffers from narcolepsy.”

Betty kept looking at him.

“I know you think none of us have noticed, Peter,” she began pointedly, causing Peter’s heart to drop as if it had gone over the side of the road and dropped the cliffside below, “But your knew look? I love it.”

Relief filled Peter as his heart came back to the height of the coach.

“Thanks,” Peter said ducking back into the seat for some privacy.

“This is so weird…” Peter’s ears instinctively latched onto Brad’s voice, a flicker of nerves jumping despite knowing the photo was long gone. He leaned slightly out of his seat to look at where Brad was sat, having moved forward next to MJ just after they’d left the stop. “It was right here on my phone. I-I…”

“Yeah.” MJ did not seem particularly impressed, and Peter tried not to smile at her expression. “Weird.” MJ’s eyes flickered to where Peter was sat, and he immediately ducked back into the seat.

Disaster averted, and he hadn’t even had to kill Brad.

* * *

Peter had spent most of the last hour checking out the impossibly wide range of functions EDITH had access to. He was a little terrified at the idea of _attack drones_ being launched from satellites on his command, and the whole ‘spy on everyone’s every movement’ thing was a bit… creepy, especially considering the warnings MJ had given about the government – Peter didn’t want to think what they’d do if they had access to EDITH. It was even more stressful than thinking that _he_ had access to all those features. At least he wasn’t going to use them… much. At least, not if he didn’t need to. Although he supposed that was the reasoning that the government would use. Okay, MJ’s conspiracy theories were _really_ starting to get to him.

At the thought of her, Peter glanced back around the seat to watch her reading a book. After his awkward failure at showing MJ the photo, Peter was glad to see that Brad had gone back to his seat at the back of the bus, leaving an empty seat next to MJ. Was he _seriously_ considering moving to sit next to her? His flicked his gaze over to Flash, who was just coming too. Peter supposed he could use Flash annoying him as an excuse. MJ would definitely believe that. Turning back to watch MJ, his heart leaped as he saw she’d looked up from her book to watch him. She raised an eyebrow, then looked back down at her book.

_Now or never._

Peter steeled his courage, picked up his bag and the glasses case, and carefully made his way down the coach to stand next to MJ’s seat.

“Hey,” Peter began, suddenly feeling nervous again. He opened his mouth to offer the excuse of Flash being annoying.

“Sure,” MJ said, answering his unspoken question and sliding her bag further onto her side, without raising her eyes from the book. Peter sank into the seat, carefully placing his bag between his legs and ignoring the smug looks Ned and Betty were sending him.

“So…” Peter cleared his throat, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes, “Prague, huh?”

“Mhm,” was the only response. MJ seemed to be engrossed in her book, but she hadn’t turned the page in a while, and Peter knew she was a fast reader. He assumed that meant she was listening to him.

“Sucks about Paris. Would have liked to see the Eiffel tower before Prague.” MJ finally looked up from the book to give him a curious look.

“Does it matter _when_ we go?” she asked, “Is something supposed to be happening in Paris?”

Peter’s eyes widened behind the glasses. Did MJ know about the Plan?!

“N-no, it’s just…” And then the curious look vanished, replaced by a half-smirk.

“Whatever,” she said, turning away from his spluttering to look at the book again. Then, in an almost whisper, “Nice glasses, dork.”

Peter was fairly certain he wasn’t blushing. He wasn’t _that_ overemotional. It was just a compliment. Not even a particularly major compliment either. Just saying she liked his glasses, like Betty had said. Knowing MJ, it could have been completely sarcastic.

As if she’d read his mind, she glanced at him again.

“Seriously. They look good on you.”

Okay, _now_ he was blushing. He muttered a _thank you_ and pulled out his phone to have something to distract him. He unlocked it with a swipe, and his stomach dropped as he remembered what he’d been searching. _TOP 10 ROMANTIC PLACES IN PRAGUE_ was plastered at the top of his screen. He hurriedly minimised the app, glancing at MJ to see if she’d seen anything. She turned a page. _Phew._

“I didn’t see anything, dork. Your porn is safe from me.” Peter’s mind automatically went to using EDITH to find out what kind of stuff MJ – Peter shut off that line of thought hurriedly. If reading her _texts_ was wrong – which he’d agreed it most definitely _was_ , trying to discover her _porn preferences_ was… well… _worse_.

Peter felt MJ’s gaze on him.

“I’m amazed. You’d normally try and stutter out how you weren’t watching porn,” MJ commented, obviously trying not to smile. “ _Were_ you watching porn?”

“No!” Peter replied hurriedly in a whisper. “O-of course I wasn’t.”

MJ’s face cracked into a smile.

“There we go. The classic Parker embarrassed denial.”

And with that sarcastic comment, she went back to her book.

* * *

Barely an hour later, MJ finished her book. She opened her bag, shoved the book into it, and immediately pulled another book out. Peter grinned. She threw a look at him that was half embarrassed and half defensive as she opened the book. Peter swallowed his laughter, trying not to embarrass her.

“That’s very _you_ ,” Peter said, before kicking himself mentally. Great, now he sounded like a creep.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” MJ said coolly, quickly recovering her composure. Peter winced at her tone.

“It was! It was meant to be a…” he trailed off at her raised eyebrow, before she shrugged and turned back to the book.

“Then, thanks.”

Peter let out a breath. Why was talking to her like walking on eggshells that were mocking him? Okay, maybe that wasn’t the most sane analogy. Peter shook his head to clear the bizarre thoughts out, and pulled out his phone to try and find some music.

* * *

It took nine hours to drive from Venice to Prague, and Peter was exhausted, having barely gotten any sleep after getting back to the hotel from meeting Fury and Beck the night before. Despite his exhaustion, something about being sat next to MJ had made it almost impossible for him to fall asleep, even when MJ herself closed her book and took a nap. Peter had almost dropped off then, until the coach had taken a corner and MJ’s head had rolled onto his shoulder. That had started his heart pumping too fast for him to sleep, so he’d sat there, hardly breathing, trying not to wake her. After almost an hour, MJ had woken at a bump in the road, and immediately straightened. There was an awkward pause for a moment, and the two of them came to the same decision to simply ignore it.


	9. Upgrade Living

By the time they entered the main city of Prague, it was early evening. And _then_ they hit the traffic. The Carnival of Light was starting that evening, and the roads were almost stationary, packed full of tourists and locals dressed in outrageous outfits. Peter started to feel nervous as he saw all the people. They were all in danger if… or, more likely, _when_ , the fire monster turned up. Of _course_ the monster would have to attack on the night of one of the largest festivals in the world, because life was never easy for super-heroes.

MJ elbowed him, shocking him out of his internal complaints about the unfairness of life. He doubted the Avengers complained about life being difficult.

“Have you seen our upgraded hotel?” she asked, nodding out the window. Peter leaned across her to look out the window and did a double take, letting out a long breath in surprise. Just looking at the place they’d be staying made it harder to be annoyed at Fury for hijacking his vacation.

“What hotel is this?” he asked in awe. A light blue flash on the glasses, and a moment later, a voice chimed in in his head.

“The Boscolo Carlo IV. Built in 1890 as a bank. Prices range from €99 per night for the Classic Room to €1.020 per night for the Carlo IV Suite.”

“It’s the Carlo IV Hotel,” MJ read off her phone, “Ridiculously expensive.”

Peter whistled under his breath.

“That’s some upgrade,” she quipped to him as the coach stopped and they started to disembark.

“Y-yeah,” Peter replied, “It was lucky.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it, Peter!” Mr Harrington announced, apparently overhearing his comment, “It's just that the squeaky wheel gets the upgrade grease!”

Peter shared a look with Ned as the class headed through the doors. _Something like that, anyway._

“Everyone get settled in, rest up, because tonight – big surprise – is Prague’s annual Carnival of Lights!” Mr Harrington announced – as if no one had noticed from outside, or the giant posterboard right next to them. Peter felt the buzz of his phone in his pocket, and pulled it out, stepping away from the class to get some privacy. He knew May wouldn’t be calling yet, and it’s not like he had many other people who called him. When you discounted the people who were on the trip with him, the list shrank even further. Down to zero, in fact. That meant the phone call could only be for one reason. Despite being distracted with the phone-call, Peter could just sense MJ’s gaze on the back of his neck.

“Parker, it’s Hill.” Peter’s attention flickered back to the voice on the other end of the phone, “There’s an ear-piece with your suit. Put it on and await further instructions, understood?”

Peter blinked at the rapid stream of information.

“Uh, yes ma’am.” _Beep._ She’d already hung up. What was it with SHIELD women and not doing pleasantries? Although Fury was hardly all about small talk. And Dimitri hadn’t spoken a word. Maybe it was just SHIELD agents in general. No need to bring gender into it. He could just _imagine_ MJ lecturing him about it.

“Hey man,” Peter hurriedly turned around, then relaxed when he saw it was Ned. “I am _so_ sorry if I seem like I’m preoccupied with my relationship. You know I’m still your Guy in the Chair, right?” Well, apart from Hill, who was literally a G…gal in the Chair? Was that a thing? Or was Guy in the Chair gender neutral? Person in the Chair? Peter realised he hadn't answered Ned.

“N-no, no, it’s all good. Don’t worry about it,” Peter reassured him hurriedly.

“Okay,” Ned said, seeming relieved, “Great. Great. So, what’s the status on the Elemental thing? Where’s it going to happen?”

Peter hesitated, then decided that honesty was probably the best policy for Ned. He’d earned the truth.

“Uh… here. In the city.”

Ned’s eyes widened.

“Peter, _we’re_ here.” As if Peter didn’t know that already.

“I know. I know. It’s… not good. I’m figuring it out.” Or, he was trying to think of a way to figure it out.

“You _have_ to do something,” Ned warned him, “Peter, please. We’re all counting on you.” Which… _yeah_. That’s what he was stressing about!

“Ned?” Peter and Ned both looked over at Betty’s call.

“Yeah, yeah babe!” Ned called back, sparing a last glance at Peter before heading towards her. Peter watched his friend hurry back to the rest of his class, feeling his gut twist with nerves. _We’re all counting on you._ Great.

On the plus side, after room allocation, Peter was only a few doors down from MJ. Clouds, silver lining, all that jazz.

* * *

“Parker!”

Peter almost jumped out of his skin.

“Yes, sir.” Nick Fury did not look amused. Although, Peter doubted he ever looked amused. Had he ever even _been_ amused?

“That thing is going to be here in a few hours. Are we boring you?” Peter opened his mouth to apologise, but Beck, stood against the table in full regalia as always, interrupted.

“He’s not bored. Probably just thinking about how you kidnapped him.”

There was a moment of awkward silence as Peter felt as the tension in the room ratchet up a notch. Peter imagined Fury wasn’t used to people questioning his orders, but at the same time, Beck was the only person with experience fighting the Elementals, which meant he basically had the best job security in the world – or, supposedly, multiple worlds. The _multiverse_. Peter still couldn’t fully wrap his head around it.

“He had obstacles,” Fury explained flatly, “I removed them.”

And that was the end of the discussion.

“They still won’t evacuate the city,” Hill reported, looking up from a computer she was using to communicate with Prague’s law enforcement, administrative offices, and politicians. Fury sighed a long-suffering sigh that Peter imagined came from many years of having local governments stubbornly refuse his experienced advice.

“So what’s the plan, Parker?”

Peter straightened. They’d been going over the plan for nearly an hour.

“I will be in the cathedral tower, keeping watch for the fire monster. When that shows up, I’ll radio you guys, and then Mister Beck and I – ”

“My name is Mysterio.”

Peter grinned. He couldn’t wait to tell Ned that the superhero was using the name he’d come up with. His friend would freak out.

“So, that’s when Mysterio and I will move in,” Peter finished, looking to Fury and Hill for confirmation.

“Peter, listen to me.” Immediately, Peter turned to look at Mysterio. He sounded serious. “The best hope you have – the only hope, is to stop it here. Now. No matter what the cost.”

Peter nodded. This was too dangerous for half-measures.

“Manoeuvre it away from civilians if you can,” Beck continued, “But most importantly, keep it away from metal.”

Peter grimaced. There was a lot of metal in Prague, he imagined. Cars, lamp-posts, benches… And that wasn’t even considering the stuff brought in especially for the Carnival. He swallowed, and looked at Quentin nervously.

“Hey, man. My-my friends are here, and I can’t help but think that we’re putting them in danger?”

Quentin looked at him steadily, before nodding.

“Possibly, yeah. But if we don’t stop it here, them being in another city, or even another country won’t save them.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. It was that serious?

“Best advice I can give you? Try and keep your friends indoors. I know it’ll be difficult, with the Carnival tonight, but if they stay inside, they’ll be less likely to get caught in the crossfire.”

Peter nodded, looking at Fury.

“Uh, could you come up with something to keep them inside? Like…” Peter paused, thinking, “A show or something?”

“The Prague State Opera is performing _Madama Butterfly_.” Hill said suddenly. “It’s four hours.” Peter, Fury, and Beck looked at her in surprise. “What, can’t a woman have interests?”

Fury looked at Quentin.

“Will four hours be enough time to defeat the Elemental?”

Beck frowned, deep in thought.

“Possibly. Either way, once the fighting starts, I doubt anyone will be heading out _into_ the fighting. As long as they’re out of the way at the beginning, they should be as safe as possible.”

Peter began to nod.

“That, yeah. That sounds great. Thank you, Mister Fury, sir. Uh, ma’am,” he said, nodding at Hill. Fury nodded, gesturing to Hill, who immediately turned away and started typing on her computer.

“Then you’ve got the added challenge of making a class of teenagers want to go to the opera rather than the Carnival,” Beck commented lightly. Peter grimaced. That _was_ going to be difficult.

* * *

“Good news!”

Peter glanced around at the rest of his classmates. They were all ready for the Carnival, with glo-stick armbands and necklaces. Apart from MJ, of course, who was simply dressed in her usual outfit of a hoodie, jacket, and jeans. She might even prefer the opera to the Carnival. Maybe.

“We’re going to the opera!” The reaction was probably not as positive as Mr Harrington hoped, but it was about what Peter had expected. The class groaned as one.

“The opera?”

“What?!”

“Why?”

Peter swallowed his smile. As amusing as their complaints were, he really needed them to go for it. He was determinedly trying to catch Ned’s attention.

“What happened to the Carnival?” MJ asked. Peter still wasn’t entirely sure how disappointed she was, since she simply seemed curious.

“This is upgrade living, guys. Come on, the tour company just _gave_ us these tickets! For free! Do you have any idea how much opera tickets cost?”

Peter finally caught Ned’s attention. He widened his eyes and nodded, trying to get the message across to support the idea. He could almost _see_ the realisation appear on the boy’s face.

“No,” Flash said flatly, “Because none of us have ever wanted to go to the opera. Ever.”

Peter supposed he had a fair point. The opera was hardly the most exciting and entertaining of things to do, but it certainly beat getting killed by a massive fire monster from another dimension.

Probably.

“Well, I think it’s going to be culturally enriching for us!” Ned’s attempt at encouraging the class was… well, about as good as Peter could have hoped. He had no idea how _he_ would have tried to convince the class to go to the opera.

“ _Thank you_ , Ned.” Mr Harrington seemed to be thinking the same thing as Peter, and jumped on the first half-hearted sign of support. “Everyone, this is going to be – maybe – the best four hours of our whole trip.” Peter winced at the class’s response to the new information. He probably would have kept the run-time a secret.

“Guys, I think this is going to be really fun! Seriously!”

Peter had to give it to Ned, he was really trying to convince them. Peter glanced at MJ just as she looked at him. She raised an eyebrow at him, and Peter shrugged, trying to seem both innocent, and slightly interested in the opera.

“Okay, guys. Everyone get into your smart outfits!”

Peter sighed, but stood up. It would be a lot harder to hide the stealth suit under his smart clothes. Maybe he could just stuff it into the bag and take that with him?

* * *

Peter had to admit, the Carnival did look like it was going to be amazing. Fireworks were already cutting through the night sky, there were giant lit balloons dotted everywhere… Peter blotted out the thoughts, focusing on staying calm for the opera, and trying to figure out the quickest route to get from the opera to the cathedral. Then he looked to the person walking next to him, and his heart did a front-flip as he felt his mouth go dry.

MJ looked _incredible_. She had an adorable floral dress on, but had thrown on a jacket that clashed with the dress in a very MJ way.

_”Parker, do you copy? Comm check.”_

Peter glanced at MJ again.

Peter raised a hand to his ear, pretending to adjust his glasses, which he had to admit, everyone seemed to have accepted without comment.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at MJ, “It’s so cool here. You can _hear so much_ going on.”

MJ looked at him like he was an idiot, but he heard a light chuckle from the earpiece.

” _I’m sure they’ll make a spy out of you yet, Peter_.” Peter had to grin at Quentin’s comment, but internally he really hoped they wouldn’t, and they’d just let him be an ordinary kid. Well…mostly ordinary. An ordinary kid who could stick to walls and lift an elephant.

Either way, he’d need to survive the night before that happened.

* * *

Peter raised an eyebrow as he entered the almost empty theatre at the back of the class. He spotted MJ just in front of him, then hung back as he saw Brad turn to talk to her.

“Hey, I’ll save you a seat.”

Peter felt his hands curl into fists as the boy walked away. He sighed and shook his head, shaking them out and trying to relax. There was no point getting jealous about MJ sitting with someone else, since he was literally planning on abandoning her before the show started so he could go and fight a fire monster from another dimension to the death. _But still…_ the jealous part of his heart complained, _Brad Davis?_

He stopped next to MJ, feeling a spark of nerves. He might as well be honest. He could very well be dead in a few hours.

“You look really pretty,” he said, feeling a little uncertain.

“Therefore I have value?” MJ asked, turning to face him and raising an eyebrow. _Fuck, shit._ She thought he was objectifying her.

“No!” Peter rushed to correct himself, “No, that’s not what I meant at all, I was just – ” MJ seemed to take pity on him, cutting off his terrified rambling.

“I’m messing with you,” she said, laughing lightly. Peter let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter said, trying to stop himself from grinning.

“You look really pretty too.”

Peter had died before, and he was pretty certain his heart had just stopped again.

After a moment, he managed to squeeze out a “Thank you.”

“Your glasses look…” MJ paused, then shrugged, “Different.”

“A good different or a bad different?” Peter asked, a flicker of nerves sparking up.

MJ paused and thought for a moment. Her gaze flickered over him, taking him in from his shoes to his still-a-bit-damp-from-the-shower hair.

“Good different.”

“Oh my gosh, opera glasses!” Peter’s doomed-to-fail attempt at deciphering what, exactly, 'good different' meant was halted by Ned and Betty, who were huddled over a stall offering rental for a pair of those incredibly pretentious and ridiculously small opera binocular glasses.

“They’re so cute!”

Peter tried not to roll his eyes at Ned.

“Do you... wanna go in on a pair?”

Peter turned to look at MJ again, who almost seemed _nervous_. It was nothing compared to what was happening in his head.

“Like, sit next to each other?”

Maybe the opera glasses weren’t so pretentious and ridiculous. They were still outrageously small, though.

“Yeah,” MJ said, evidently trying to regain her cool, “Unless, like, your glasses work as binoculars as well.” They probably did, actually, now that Peter thought about it.

_“Are you in position?”_

Peter’s jaw clenched as Fury’s voice came from the earpiece.

“That sounds great,” Peter said to MJ. Hopefully Fury would realize that meant _no_ and _I can’t talk_ in answer to his question. Also, it really did sound like a great plan.

 _“Parker, get into position!”_ On the plus side, it meant he got the message. He assumed spy-masters were well trained at understanding secret messages. On the down-side, they also didn’t seem pleased with their spies being late to missions.

Peter reached up and covered the earpiece, pretending to adjust his glasses again. They were turning out to be useful props, even omitting the fact that EDITH gave him access to… most things, apparently.

“Yeah?” MJ asked, and Peter’s stomach did a flip as her expression seemed to light up.

“Yeah. Why don’t you-you grab seats? I’ll get the glasses.” Peter wasn’t even trying to ‘pay for everything’, because he knew MJ hated that, he just really needed an excuse to get out and in position.

“Sure,” MJ said, trying to hide a smile, “I’ll save you a seat.” She was already heading down towards the stage, but hesitated and glanced back at him, “Next to me.”

Peter tried not to sigh as she headed down to the seats. The voice in his ear was insistent, but he still stayed to watch her walk away. Considering how dangerous Beck had made the Fire Elemental out to be, this might be the last time he got to see her, and that was how he wanted to remember her. Happy. Excited.

_“Parker!”_

He turned away, muttering an irritated “On my way” into the earpiece, then caught Ned’s sleeve as he walked past.

“I need to go,” he whispered in a rush, “Can you...” Peter glanced back at MJ, who was looking back at him, “Can you tell MJ I’m sick or something? That I didn’t just abandon her?”

“Okay,” Ned said, nodding, “Um, be careful, and Peter, whatever you do, please steer the monster away from the opera house.”

Peter blinked. That was kind of the entire point of their class going to the opera.

“Yeah, Ned, I know.”

They nodded to each other.

“Okay,” Peter said, realising he was wasting time, “Gotta go.”

Then Peter swore and remembered something.

“Ned!” he whisper-shouted. The other boy stopped and turned back. Peter pulled his glasses off his face and folded them, before slipping them into the case. “If I… If I don’t make it back. Can you try and get this to Nick Fury? Or, like, an Avenger?” he asked. Ned stared at him like he was insane. Peter had to explain its importance as quickly as possible. “Mister Stark gave it to me for safe-keeping. It’s really important. But I’m going into danger and I can’t risk it getting damaged. Just…” Peter tried to think of something, “If Dimitri is still at the coach, give it to him to give to Fury, and tell him it’s from me?”

Ned looked confused.

“Dimitri? The bus driver? Is he a secret agent?!”

Peter hesitated. He was pretty sure the guy was more like an assassin, but there was no need to scare him more, and no time to explain.

“Yeah, I think so.”

He headed for the door, and Ned began the trek down to the stage, carefully pocketing the glasses case. Peter stepped out of the theatre’s main hall, then hesitated, glancing back towards his class’s seats. His stomach clenched as he watched Ned talking to MJ, and then he felt a flush of anger as Brad _fucking_ Davis stood up, turning to look back to the door as he moved to sit next to MJ, flipping Peter off as he did so.

_“Parker, you had better be on your way!”_

Peter swore under his breath, wrenching his gaze away from his classmates as he headed out into the city.


	10. Carnival Chaos

The Carnival was in full swing as Peter looked out over the city from his vantage point on the cathedral spire.

“Alright, I’m in position,” he said clearly into the microphone. He hoped he could be heard over the fireworks. SHIELD communications should be the best quality, right?

“Uh, as soon as I see something, Beck, I’ll-I’ll let you know.”

_“Roger that.”_

Peter settled in for a wait.

 _“How’s the suit?”_ Fury asked. Peter considered it. It was itchy, and, considering what he'd had to do, didn't fit anywhere near as well as his usual suit, but he didn't want to sound like he was a kid complaining.

“Uh, the suit’s… great. It’s awesome. It’s…” he paused, readjusting the suit, “A little tight around the old webshooter,” he admitted.

 _“Parker!”_ came the immediate rebuke.

“Okay, I’ll shut up.” It seemed Fury didn’t appreciate his quips. He only made them when he was nervous. Plus, he supposed they helped him form a different identity between Peter Parker, nervous kid whose only jokes were admittedly terrible science puns, and Spider-Man, quip-master extraordinaire –

Peter’s internal monologue was interrupted when the rather nice, undoubtedly very old, and solid metal statue on a fountain exploded into magma, revealing… Well, it certainly _looked_ like a Fire Elemental.

“Okay, he’s here!” he shouted into the microphone, although he supposed it wasn’t entirely needed. The screams kind of made it obvious. “Beck, are you ready? You know what to do.”

 _“On your lead, Spider-Man.”_ Well, _that_ was a scary amount of responsibility. Although it _was_ cool to have a hero like Mysterio refer to him as Spider-Man. It really made him feel like a pro.

Back to the matter at hand. Namely, the giant fire monster hell-bent on destroying Prague, swiftly followed by the rest of the planet.

Peter watched as Mysterio landed, then leaped off the cathedral, sliding down the slope to build up some speed.

“You’re up, kid.”

Peter yanked up one of the water containers that had been scattered around the city in case of fires – which, he supposed this was – and flung it at the Elemental. It collided with a thud and staggered the giant, but didn’t burst. Or maybe it was empty. All Peter knew was that it hadn’t been anywhere near as effective as he’d hoped. Peter landed against the side of a building and found his next target – a fire hydrant. He webbed it, then waited for Beck to position the Elemental. A beam of green magic pushed the Elemental back a step, and Peter tugged on the webbing, ripping the hydrant out of the ground and loosing a jet of water right into the Elemental’s chest.

The one downside Peter hadn’t considered when planning on attacking a super-heated fire monster with water was… well, the steam. It billowed out from the Elemental and filled the centre of the square. Peter’s goggles immediately misted up, and he hurriedly wiped them clean – the Stark suit would have done it automatically, but he had to work with what he had.

A fireball streaked towards him and Peter leaped backward, backflipping over the attack and landing on the carousel. He paused, steadying himself, then hurriedly flung himself off his perch as the Elemental’s fist crushed the carousel flat. He landed heavily and stumbled backwards, bouncing off a stage and standing as quickly as he could. Then he groaned.

“Beck! He’s got the carousel! He’s getting bigger.” And it was. _Significantly_ bigger.

“Night Monkey! Night Monkey! Help! Save us!” _Night Monkey? Who the hell was Night Monkey?!_ Peter looked towards the sound, then swore internally. Was that – ? Of course it was Ned and Betty, on top of the Ferris wheel. Which meant... _He_ was Night Monkey.

“Night Monkey, we’re stuck! Help us!”

Peter looked between his friends and the Elemental. Too close for comfort. It advanced, and Peter panicked, firing webs at it. It turned out that webs were even less effective against Fire Elementals than Water Elementals, because they simply caught fire. Peter hurriedly disconnected the webs so the fire wouldn’t damage the webshooters, and stumbled backwards as the Elemental raised a fist to crush him. The fist came down and slammed into a green bubble that appeared over Peter’s head at the last moment. Peter’s yelp got caught in his throat, and he looked at Mysterio, who was stood next to him, half-pressed against the ground from the weight.

“You okay?” Peter asked the other hero, as the Elemental began to slam its fists down onto the protective bubble repeatedly.

“On to Plan B?” Mysterio asked, ignoring the unnecessary question. Peter guessed inter-dimensional soldiers focused on the important stuff.

“Yeah,” Peter said, trying to focus on the plans. “We’ve got to hit him with something he can’t ignore!”

“I go left, you go right,” the other man grunted out. Peter nodded. “Go!”

The bubble vanished, and Peter turned and sprinted away to give himself the room to fire a web. He pulled himself up onto a wall and began to run straight up it, with streams of the Elemental’s fire on his heels. When he thought he’d got enough height, Peter pushed off, throwing himself backwards into the air and travelling over the elemental. He let himself run on instinct, shooting a web to connect to… something heavy, he couldn’t tell what it was through the steam. He looped the web over the top of a lamppost, and used his falling momentum to catapult the weight into the monster’s chest. It staggered backwards, and Beck flew close, blasting the weak point where it had just been hit. The Elemental seemed stunned, dropping to its knees.

“That hurt it!” Beck called to him. “We need to do it more!”

Peter spotted a burning lump of rubble – almost the size of a boulder, and caught it with a web. Gripping the web with both hands, he span, trying to spin the rubble like a hammer-throw from Physical Education. He gave up with getting the momentum up, and simply flung it overhead at the monster, hitting it in the shoulder. Again, Beck zipped close, blasting the injury, but as he swerved away, the Elemental’s backhand caught him, knocking him out of the sky. Peter opened his mouth to yell something, but Beck was already up again, stumbling slightly before steadying himself against a battered car.

“We can’t let him get near the Ferris wheel!” Beck warned. Peter swallowed before replying. His throat was already burning from the smoke.

“Okay! I’m on it!”

Peter fired a web at the Ferris wheel and pulled, sending himself flying towards the target. Before he got more than halfway there, the Elemental’s hand batted him, sending him slamming into a wall. He groaned, already sitting up, and swore as he saw the Ferris wheel unbalanced, sagging to one side.

He tried to focus on the Elemental, and saw Mysterio blasting it back to keep it away from the Ferris wheel. The two of them pushed against each other, and the Elemental swayed forwards and backwards as they tried to overpower the other.

Peter fired another web at the Ferris wheel, trying to pull it upright, then hesitated as the web seemed to hang in mid-air, stuck to nothing.

“What the _hell_ is that?” he wondered aloud, tugging on the web. Whatever it was flew behind him, and he turned to watch it bounce down an alleyway. A grinding of metal and two screams refocused him back onto the Ferris wheel immediately, and he put the thing out of his mind, hurriedly getting to work webbing the Ferris wheel to a nearby building to hold it up. The screech of tires entering the square told him that Fury and Hill had arrived, but he landed on the wheel next to Ned and Betty, holding a thick strand of webbing and pulled, trying to hold the Ferris wheel up. He turned to look back at the fight.

Mysterio had the Elemental on the back foot, and was forcing it backwards with each attack. _We might have this_ , Peter realised. He must have jinxed it, he thought to himself in horror as the scaffolding against the building opposite tipped over, slamming into the Elemental’s back. _Metal_. The Elemental roared as the metal melted down and strengthened it. Even from this distance, Peter could see it starting to grow.

“No. No, no, no…” Peter heard Beck’s words and knew they were screwed. The Ferris wheel slid slightly, and he refocused on holding it upright as Beck redoubled the attack.

“Whatever happens…” Peter turned at Beck’s voice. The man was floating in place, and retracted his helmet, “I’m glad we met.”

Peter went cold. That didn’t sound good.

“Beck! What the hell are you doing?” Peter yelled, still straining against the Ferris wheel. The helmet reformed as the man turned to face the Elemental.

“What I should have done last time.”

Peter had never had the time to ask Beck exactly _what_ his powers were, whether they were magic, some sort of radiation, or something unique from his dimension, but whatever it was, Beck seemed to be super-charging it for one final attack. The green energy pulsed around him, wrapping itself up his arms and blasting his cape around.

“Beck, don’t do it!”

It was too late. Quentin surged towards the Elemental, cutting a path of destruction through the monsters hand, then ripping straight through its chest. The molten metal of the Elemental started to warp, whatever powered it being overcome by Beck’s energy, and the whole creature started to burn with a green fire. It dropped to its knees and roared, and then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it exploded, erupting outwards in blasts of green energy. The blast rippled across the square, the force of it pushing the Ferris wheel away from it’s dangerous slump, and Peter connected the last strand of web, holding it in place. His gaze roamed cross the square, searching helplessly. _Where is he? Where is he?!_

And then Peter spotted him, laying in a crater. He leaped off the Ferris wheel, landing in a run towards the caped body.

“Mister Beck?” Peter crouched next to him, rolling the man onto his back. _Not again._ Suddenly, he felt like he was back in the fight against Thanos, watching the dust settle. _Not again._ As Peter panicked, his mind blurred the lines between Beck and Tony. They were already incredibly similar, and the fear that filled him at the thought of losing someone else... _No!_

And then the man moved. Peter felt relief course through him.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed, offering Quentin a hand and helping him to his feet as carefully as possible.

“So it’s over?” At Hill’s question, Peter turned away from watching Ned and Betty to make sure they were safe.

“That was the last of them,” Beck confirmed, leaning against a pile of rubble.

“But not the last threat we’ll ever face.” Fury said pointedly. “We need to stay vigilant.”

Fury and Beck shared a look.

“There’s a void in the world for someone like you,” Fury continued, looking at Beck appraisingly. “Hill and I are going to EuroPol headquarters in Berlin tomorrow. You should join us.”

Beck stood slowly, evidently still exhausted after the fight, but offered his hand confidently, which Fury took. The two shook.

“Thank you,” Beck said warmly, “I just might take you up on that.”

Fury turned to look at Peter for a moment, then walked over. As always, Peter felt a twinge of nerves at Fury’s expression.

“You’ve got gifts, Parker,” Fury said, judging him with his one good eye, “But you didn’t want to be here.”

Peter felt a flush of shame.

“Mister Fury,” he began, but Fury ignored him.

“I’d love to have you in Berlin too.” Fury spoke pointedly, and Peter immediately shut up. “But you’ve got to decide if you’re going to step up or not.”

Peter nodded, and something seemed to soften in Fury’s gaze. Not much, but Peter grasped at it like a drowning man.

“Stark _chose_ you. He made you an Avenger. I need that. The _world_ needs that.”

There was a pause, as if Fury was expected Peter to say something, but he was deep in thought.

“Maybe Stark was wrong.” Peter froze as Fury continued. “Was he? The choice is yours.”

Peter swallowed heavily, but didn’t respond as Fury walked away. As always, Peter felt a sudden attack of nerves at the thought – a fear that he’d had more than once in the last eight months – but this time, with Nick Fury stood in front of him in the ruins of an interdimensional threat that he’d just helped stop, he also felt a different emotion. He wasn’t sure what to call it. It wasn’t _pride_ , exactly. He knew he wasn’t ready yet – he’d spent most of the fights against Elementals minimising damage to property, although he supposed he was also saving lives – but he knew that he’d get there, to the point where he could face threats himself. It would take a while, but he _knew_ he would. He’d fight until he was the man Tony Stark had hoped he would be.

Quentin stood and walked up to Peter, pulling him out of his reverie by clapping him on the shoulder.

“Let’s get a drink.”

Peter grimaced slightly.

“I-I’m not twenty-one,” he said awkwardly. Beck shrugged.

“Then come drink some orange juice or something while I get myself wasted drinking to a long-awaited victory.”

Peter looked past Beck at Ned and Betty, who’d just been helped down by a group of what Peter assumed were SHIELD agents.

“I… I’d love to, Mister Beck, but…”

Beck stopped and looked back at him, a curiously tense expression on his face. Peter guessed he was just dealing with the adrenaline from the fight. Peter was still shaking.

“You want to go back to living a normal life without any responsibilities?” Beck asked. Peter knew that was never going to happen, especially not while he had EDITH. A flicker of an idea came to him, but he hesitated.

“I know it sounds stupid,” Peter admitted, “But I just… I want to go on my trip. I want to go back on my trip with my friends, and… go to the top of the Eiffel tower with this girl who I really like, and tell her how I feel, and…” Peter flushed slightly under the mask, “Give her a kiss,” he finished, lamely.

Beck seemed to be thinking it over a lot more deeply than Peter’s childish rambling seemed to justify. After a few moments, he nodded, and his face cleared of tension.

“Okay.” Peter wasn’t sure which of them the man was addressing, “Okay. You do that. I’m sure we’ll probably see quite a lot of each other after this, dealing with disasters. But yeah. Go be a kid, P–”

The man caught himself, glancing over his shoulder at the Ned and Betty.

“If you want to find me again tonight, I’ll probably be tending to my wounds and-or celebrating by getting drunk at a bar I know. It’s called the Cohiba. It’s near the Mánes bridge.”

Peter nodded.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll try and come by tonight once I’ve…”

Beck nodded, waving his explanation away.

“I’ll see you around, then, kid.”

With that almost brusque dismissal, Beck strode away. Peter watched him leave, then turned back to Ned and Betty. A quick glance to make sure they were all right, and Peter left as quickly as possible, climbing up the wall of a building to stay as different from Spider-Man as possible. Once he was a few blocks away from the square, Peter started to use his webs, speeding through Prague until he arrived at the place he’d stored his bag, tucked securely in the cathedral spire. He changed quickly, stuffing the suit into his bag, before making his way back towards the hotel. He was pretty sure the opera was over, if it hadn’t been cancelled with the attack. He checked his phone and his stomach dropped as he saw multiple missed calls from MJ, along with a few frantic texts from Ned, all warning him that MJ, Betty, and him had ended up outside.

Despite his heart telling him to call MJ right away, he dialled Ned first. He picked up on the third ring.

“Ned! Are you and Betty okay?” Peter rushed out.

 _”Yeah, Peter, we’re okay.”_ Ned replied, still sounding a little shaken from the experience.

“And the glasses?” Peter asked nervously. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ned, it was simply that he hadn’t had a chance to properly explain why the glasses were so important.

_“They’re fine, Peter. They were in the case, safe in my bag the entire time.”_

Peter relaxed a little.

 _“Have you heard from MJ?”_ And then the stress came back with a vengeance.

“No. Not yet. I got some missed calls from her, but I’m assuming she’s just furious that I ditched her,” Peter said, still feeling guilty, “I thought I should call you first, since you two were kind of in the middle of it all.”

_“I mean, thanks, dude. For checking on us. And for saving us, obviously. I’ll give you the glasses when you get back to the hotel, yeah?”_

“Sounds good,” Peter said, looking down at the hotel from his perch. “Any idea how long you’ll be?”

 _"We actually got a lift from some those guys in black suits and fancy cars,”_ Ned said, _”We’re already back.”_

Peter raised an eyebrow. Why was Fury giving a lift to, for all he knew, two random kids?

 _”We got questioned about whether we’d taken any photos or videos, then told that it would probably be best if we kept quiet as much as possible. When they realised we were American, they reminded us about HAIL.”_ Peter sighed. Of course, tying up potential lose ends. That was what the Human/Alien Interaction Law was for. Not necessarily “hushing up aliens”, as conspiracy theorists still seemed to think – despite public knowledge of extra-terrestrial life for the past five years – but simply preventing mass panic about possibly closely-averted threats. Or that was the justification, anyway. MJ was, as always, suspicious of the government’s intentions.

_“Plus, when we mentioned where we were going, some serious-looking woman told us to make sure that all our classmates were safe.”_

That would be Agent Hill. Was that her looking out for him, or just trying to keep an eye on him for Fury?

Peter started to climb down the wall as quickly and quietly as he could.

“Okay, I’m almost at the hotel. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

With that, Peter hung up, dropping into the alleyway and stretching. He hoped he didn’t look too badly beaten up. That would make the difficult job of explaining his absence twice as hard.


	11. Five Minutes

Peter took the steps two at a time up to the floor that his class was on. He let out a breath of relief as he spotted Ned, who seemed to be trying to relax after the stress of the evening in a fluffy bathrobe, but from the way he was tapping his fingers against the battered leather case of the glasses, he didn’t seem to be completely successful.

“Peter, you’re all right!” Ned almost-shouted upon spotting him, before pulling him in to a very fluffy hug. Peter kind of wanted to try one of the bathrobes on himself. They were _so_ comfortable. “You almost died! _We_ almost died!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s all right,” Peter said, carefully extracting himself from the hug and taking the offered glasses case. “Thanks for keeping these safe,” he added, slipping them into his trouser pocket. “I can explain all about it now. I’m done with the mission!”

Ned looked almost sad for him.

“Dude… the trip’s over.”

Peter’s heart sank.

“What?”

“There’s monsters coming out of the ground everywhere we go,” Ned pointed out, “Of _course_ our parents would want us home.”

Peter’s mind was spinning, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was the after-effect of adrenaline from the fight. The trip being cancelled meant no stop in Paris. No stop in Paris meant no chance to visit the Eiffel tower with MJ. The Plan was ruined. Right when things were looking up.

“Oh! Peter! You’re not dead!” Peter and Ned turned to look at the rather haggard form of Mr Harrington, who was evidently on the phone booking flights. “Oh, thank God. Yes. Good. Stay here. Don’t die.” The teacher was still moving down the corridor, but paused briefly when he spotted what Ned was wearing. “Put some clothes on. We’re booking flights!”

And then he was gone. Peter glanced at Ned.

“What is going on, dude?”

Ned shrugged.

“We’re going home in the morning.”

“What? No! All the Elementals are gone!”

Ned sighed.

“I know that, and you know that, but the school? Our parents? They’re going to want to – ”

“Ned?”

Both boys turned at Betty’s call from further down the hall.

“Coming sweetie!”

Peter sighed heavily as he was left alone.

_Well, fuck._

He heard the door open and turned, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t Flash. He couldn’t deal with Flash at the moment. Or, God forbid, Brad.

“Hey.”

Peter’s heart did a double-take. MJ was still wearing the dress she had at the opera.

“Hey,” Peter managed to get out, trying not to look her over. If she was still annoyed about him ditching her at the opera, he didn’t want to know how she’d react to him _objectifying_ her.

“Where were you?”

She did _not_ look happy.

“I was feeling ill so I went for some air,” Peter began awkwardly, “Then… I-I got lost.”

He flinched internally at how lame that sounded.

“We were worried about you,” was all MJ said. Peter was surprised. He doubted Flash or Brad were worried if he came back, and he imagined most of the rest of the class would be more disappointed with the trip being cancelled, and the threat of monsters. Did she mean _we_ , or _I…_? “But you’re back.”

Peter nodded, like an _idiot_.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

MJ shrugged.

“So much for Paris, right?” she asked. Peter sighed.

“Yeah. Would have been fun.”

There was an awkward pause. Should he apologise for abandoning her at the opera? Say something about his plan? Compliment her?

“Well… night.”

“Night,” Peter said quickly. He kicked himself as she started to close the door to her room, then rushed out, “You look nice.”

The door clicked shut.

Too late. Like usual.

Peter groaned to himself, trying to steel his courage. He’d just faced down a giant fire monster from another dimension, _surely_ he could talk to a girl.

He stepped up to the door and raised a hand to knock. The door swung open.

“Oh,” MJ said, stepping back in surprise. Had she been coming to see _him?_

“Hey,” Peter said, trying to seem relaxed. His heart was beating too fast. He dropped his hand to his side lamely. She was looking at him strangely. He should just say something. “Look, um… I’m not ready for this trip to be over yet,” he admitted, “and… I kinda wanna do something fun, that’s not on the itinerary, or planned, or – ”

“Yes,” MJ cut off his rambling with another answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet. _How did she keep doing that?_

“Yes, like, you wanna go?” Peter asked, still a little taken aback.

“Yes,” MJ confirmed, smiling slightly. Peter’s mouth moved but no sound came out. After a moment, he got his voice working again.

“Okay, a-awesome. I’ll see you outside in ten minutes?”

“Meet me outside in five,” MJ countered.

Peter didn’t have to think about it.

“Five’s good,” he said, already backing away from the door. Then MJ paused and squinted at him.

“No glasses?”

Peter swallowed and pulled out the glasses case, gesturing with it.

“I didn’t really need them,” he admitted, “Just for looks.”

MJ raised an eyebrow at him, then seemed to come to a decision.

“Keep them.”

And with that, she shut the door. Peter stared at the closed door for almost a minute, trying to translate that cryptic statement. Did she like the glasses?

Peter was done in three minutes, so he headed down to watch TV while he waited in the hotel lobby. Unsurprisingly, the main story on the news was the Elemental attack, and its miraculous defeat by Mysterio and a new hero, _Night Monkey!_ Peter tried not to laugh at the name. Ned had somehow managed to create two super-hero personas in the space of a few days. It was a shame that the Night Monkey was finished. He’d only just begun his adventures as a superhero, and he was already gone. Maybe he could make a shocking and dramatic return if Peter ever came back to Europe.

Peter pushed himself off the pillar he was resting against as the elevator doors opened with a ding. Peter smiled to himself when he saw that MJ had changed into a slightly more MJ-like outfit. She somehow looked even more pretty than she had done up for the opera.

“Hey,” Peter said, walking to meet her halfway.

“Hi.”

Peter swallowed. What did people normally do on dates? Was this even a date?

“Alright, so… where do you want to go?”

“Who cares?” MJ asked. Peter grinned at that, heart in his throat. He had to admit he was feeling pretty much the same. He didn’t really care where they went, as long as he was with MJ. Wait… was that what she meant? Peter shook his head to clear the rambling, and blinked, smothering a satisfied smile as EDITH brought up directions to Charles Bridge. _Perfect._

“Awesome,” he said, stepping out of her way, “Let’s go.”

The two of them walked towards the doors, sharing awkward glances as they went. Two major thoughts were spinning around Peter’s head. The first one was _Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit_ , and the second one was _Is this an actual proper date?_ Peter _thought_ it was. It certainly _felt_ like one. But… was it? Or was it just two friends doing something together on their last night on vacation? And would clarifying be a disaster? Asking her if she _thought_ it was a date would make it obvious that he wanted it to be a date, wouldn’t it? Was it worth the risk?

* * *

Peter followed the directions that EDITH superimposed on the streets to get the two of them close to Charles Bridge, and then, realising that it might look odd if he led her straight there without checking a map or anything, pulled out his phone for directions.

The two of them walked in a comfortable silence for a while, before Peter spotted the bridge and slid his phone back into his pocket.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Peter said, as they began to cross the bridge, sneaking a quick glance at MJ out of the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah, me-me too.” Peter was amazed. That must have been one of the first times he’d heard MJ stutter. She was usually so controlled and sarcastically deadpan.

“You know they used to execute people, on this bridge?” MJ said suddenly. Peter’s lips twitched slightly as he fought a grin. Of course _that_ was what she knew about it. “They would like, put them in a basket and they would drown in the water.”

There was another silence.

“Sorry,” MJ said awkwardly.

“It’s okay.” _I like your morbid facts_ , Peter thought. He opened his mouth to say it, and their hands, swinging beside each other, brushed. Peter immediately drew his hand away as if he’d been electrocuted. If he ended up holding hands with MJ, he thought he might spontaneously combust. The slight contact was enough to make his heart skip a beat, and he found he’d started to talk.

“Uh, there was this thing I’ve been wanting to talk to you about for… a while,” Peter admitted. MJ turned to look at him curiously as the two of them trailed to a stop in the middle of the bridge.

“Yeah?” she prompted, when he didn’t continue immediately.

“It’s our last night in Europe,” Peter explained, “And I… I had this plan, that I wanted to tell you…” He shook his head, forgetting the plan, and reached into his pocket for the necklace’s box. “I’m just gonna…” Could she hear his heart beating so fast? “I’m just gonna tell you.”

He took a breath.

“MJ, I…”

“Am Spider-Man?”

Peter’s mind went blank.

“… What?”

MJ shrugged.

“That’s what you were going to say, right? That you’re Spider-Man.”

Peter stared at her, almost speechless.

“Uh… No. No!” And then he realised he should probably try and convince her properly. “I’m… I’m not Spider-Man.”

MJ scoffed.

“I mean, I’ve been watching you, for like, a while now,” MJ admitted, causing Peter’s heart to jump, “and it’s kinda obvious,” she said, laughing slightly.

Peter was still trying to wrap his mind around the… reverse confession?

“I’m not Spider-Man,” Peter said clearly. You know, _like a liar_. Peter’s brain was so confused that he couldn’t even acknowledge the meme. “I mean… what would make you think that I’m Spider-Man?” he asked.

MJ looked at him like he was an idiot, which, to be honest, he probably was. Scratch that. _Definitely._ He was definitely an idiot.

“Peter, Washington?” she said.

“…Yeah?” This was _not_ going the way that he had planned. Or even imagined. This wasn’t even his worst-case scenario. He didn’t even have a scenario for this. What the hell was he supposed to do?!

“The fact that you, like, disappeared, out of no-where, for no reason.”

“No, that was… I was sick. Remember? I had my-the tummy–” Wait, was that the excuse he’d given? He couldn’t remember.

“You know that Suzan Yang thinks that you’re a male escort?”

“What? No, of course I’m not a male escort!”

“Then you’re Spider-Man,” MJ said simply, shrugging, as if those were the only two possible answers. Maybe he should have gone with being a male escort. Not even as an excuse. He should have actually become a male escort. It would have been less dangerous, less exhausting, and it would actually get him rent money.

“No,” Peter said firmly. “I’m not Spider-Man. At all.”

“Well what about tonight?” MJ asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge, “You snuck off, and you fought that… thing. I _saw_ you.”

“You can’t have seen me,” Peter said emphatically, “because I’m not Spider-Man! And also, on the news, it was the… the Night Monkey!”

_So there._

“The Night Monkey?” MJ said disbelievingly.

“That’s what it said on the news,” Peter replied, “And the news… never lies…” Probably not the best argument to make when talking to MJ. Possibly the worst argument he could have chosen.

“The Night Monkey?” MJ asked again, shrugging off her bag.

“W-what are you doing?” Peter asked, a little concerned. MJ ignored his question and unzipped the bag, pulling out a metal object covered in webs.

“Well, do the Night Monkey and Spider-Man use the same webs?” she asked, playing her trump card. Peter swallowed. _Shit._

“I-Maybe,” he said, bullshitting more unrealistically than he ever had before, “Maybe he’s a spider-monkey. Who knows?”

MJ gave him a Look. Peter sighed. And then a thought came to him that made his heart sink.

“W-were you only watching me because you thought I was Spider-Man?” he asked. He really didn’t want to hear the answer. He might, at that moment, have been more scared of learning the answer to his question than he had been in his entire life, and certainly more terrified than he had been that night.

MJ seemed to hesitate.

“… Yeah,” she said softly. Peter thought she almost sounded disappointed as she fiddled with the metal object uncertainly, “Why else would I be watching you?”

Peter could _feel_ his heart breaking. He tried to think of something to say. _Anything._

“Just thought that maybe…”

With a flash, the metal object lit up, projecting a beam of light. MJ dropped it, and the two of them stumbled away from it in surprise as a gigantic figure that seemed to be made of storm clouds filled the air above the bridge for a moment, before vanishing.

“The _hell_ was that?” Peter asked, looking about. MJ looked as confused as he did.

“I don’t know…”

Peter slowly approached the flickering… projector? – raising a hand to warn MJ back. He bent down to pick it up, muttering to EDITH for assistance. Peter’s vision flickered blue as EDITH came online and quickly scanned the object.

“Is it like a projector or something?” MJ asked, just as EDITH came back with a confirmation, whispered into his ear. _“It’s a projector from a Stark Industries Combat Drone. A number of drones have gone missing in recent months, and all attempts to connect to them have failed. Potential cause: removal from network.”_

“Yeah,” he said vaguely to MJ while his mind tried to untangle the meaning of the information EDITH had just given him. _Removal from network?_ “But it’s super advanced.”

“It looked so real.” Peter nodded.

“Yeah… really real.” He didn’t have time to think about the tautology.

“Wait a minute…” MJ said uncertainly, “Does that mean that…?”

“The Elementals are fake?” Peter finished for her, confusion starting to grow into concern. “That doesn’t make any sense, because we were there, right? There was fire, and destruction, and…” Peter trailed off, trying to figure it out. “Who would do something like that?”

Suddenly, the projector started up again. Peter jumped as the massive… Storm Elemental, perhaps? – swung a fist at him, but it passed through him like smoke. As the display continued, Peter spotted a horribly familiar figure in a cape and with a helmet that, even now, he thought of as a fishbowl. MJ identified the figure for him, because Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak properly.

“Mysterio?”

Peter went cold. _Mysterio?_ Beck was _faking_ the Elemental attacks? It was all an _illusion?_ Immediately, Peter realised what had happened, and what he had to do. He span to face MJ. Time for the truth.

“I am Spider-Man,” he admitted, “And I’ve _really_ messed up.”

MJ blinked.

“Wait,” she said, stunned. She opened and shut her mouth, before finally squeezing out: “You’re being serious right now?”

“Mhm,” Peter said, still trying to deal with Quentin’s betrayal.

“You’re not joking? Like, you’re _one hundred percent serious_ , ‘cause it’s not funny.”

“Nope. I’m not joking!”

“Because I was only, like, sixty… sixty-seven percent sure.” MJ seemed to be having a meltdown. They really didn’t have time for this.

“MJ,” Peter said, as calmly as he could, but she ignored him.

“Why are you here? Like, why are you on the school trip? W– ”

“MJ, look!” Peter all-but-shouted, “I know you have a lot of questions, but we _really_ have to get out of here, okay?”

MJ took a deep, steadying breath, then nodded.

“Okay. Okay.”

Then she grinned widely.

“I can’t believe I figured it out!”


	12. Ich bin ein Idiot

Peter pulled the curtains closed across the window to his room. If Beck had enough advanced technology to fake Elemental attacks, let alone using Stark Combat Drones, had he somehow gained access to EDITH? The thought made Peter’s blood run cold. The amount of planning that had gone into this… fraud, he couldn’t even imagine. If he’d somehow got into EDITH, Peter had no idea what he could do. If Beck decided Peter was a threat, having access to EDITH, would he just try and use a drone to take him out? Could he? Would EDITH even attack someone who had access?

“You have access to _killer drones?_ ” MJ asked shakily, pulling Peter back to the present. Peter glanced at her awkwardly, then nodded and tapped his glasses. At least he still had them, and with them, the easiest access to EDITH. He hoped.

“Yeah, it’s… uh, Tony Stark’s last tech idea. The glasses have an AI that lets the user access…”

The look on MJ’s face made Peter reconsider his explanation.

“The problem is, so does Beck. The… killer drones, I mean. And for some reason EDITH can’t connect to the missing drones, so – ”

“EDITH?” MJ interrupted, still looking confused.

“The AI,” Peter explained hurriedly, “It’s called EDITH. The problem is, I don’t know if Beck has access to the network EDITH uses, so I can’t risk contacting Mister Fury through it. And if he _does_ have access to the Stark Global Security network, he’d be able to tap my phone.”

MJ stared at him.

“Phone tapping. Of course, because _that’s_ never a bad idea.” Then she paused, “Wait, did _you_ tap my phone?”

Peter was actually hurt. The fact that he had kind-of-accidentally very nearly, almost done that made him flush with shame, but he _hadn’t_.

“What? No, of course not. That would be a terrible invasion of–”

“Okay, fine.” MJ interrupted, “Fine. I believe you. So… what do we do?”

Peter’s mind whirled as he tried to come up with a plan.

“Uh… I need my suit,” Peter said, already snatching up the backpack containing the stealth suit, “And I have to go to Berlin and talk to Fury in person. It’s the only way to be sure Beck doesn’t find out.”

Peter yanked off his t-shirt, dropping it on the ground, still trying to think of a plan. An awkward cough made him freeze, and he turned to look at MJ, who was staring at him. At his _body_. He hadn’t even realised he’d just started stripping in front of her. Peter supposed the threat of an evil mastermind using illusions and drones to pretend to be a hero had somehow managed to distracted him enough that he had started stripping in front of his crush.

There was a moment’s pause as the two of them just stared at each other, then MJ turned around slowly, clearing her throat. Peter hurriedly went back to getting changed, dropping his trousers– pointedly ignoring the fact that he was in his bedroom with MJ wearing nothing but his boxers – and tugging on his suit.

Another awkward cough, and Peter glanced at the door.

“Ah, Ned! Perfect!” Two people to sell whatever excuse he came up with for Berlin was better than one.

“The costume looks great,” Ned said loudly, glancing at MJ pointedly. “For the-the costume party, at the… Prince’s Castle…” Peter tried not to sigh when he realised Ned was trying to come up with an excuse for MJ.

“She knows,” Peter cut him off, “I told her.”

MJ threw an irritated look at Peter.

“He didn’t tell me, I figured it out.” _Sixty-seven percent_ _of it, at least._

Ned nodded slowly.

“Oh, okay. That’s cool.”

“Like, a long time ago.”

Peter’s smile was luckily hidden under the mask. _And now half an hour ago was ‘a long time ago’?_

“Look,” Peter said, glancing between them. Were they really in a competition about who knew he was Spider-Man? “Mysterio is a fraud. He was after EDITH.”

“But-but he saved me and Betty’s life,” Ned said, evidently confused.

“No, he’s been faking the whole thing with illusion tech,” MJ explained, probably a lot more concisely than Peter would have managed.

“Yeah, he’s using these, like… hologram projectors, connected to the Stark combat drones.” Ned frowned.

“The combat drones you can use?” he asked, “The killer drones? That’s… that’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” MJ agreed, frowning at Peter. Was she really judging him for being given access to drones? He didn’t even _want_ them! What if he had accidentally called a strike on someone?!

“So… you guys have been, like, working the case _together_?” Ned asked, throwing a pointed look at Peter. Peter tried to get across that his confession of feelings hadn’t exactly worked out the way he’d planned with a slight shake of the head.

“It’s been mostly me,” MJ quipped.

“Look, Ned. I need you to call May. Get her to call Mister Harrington and say… say she wanted me to stay with family in Berlin – a… cousin, or aunt, or something, until the whole Elemental thing blows over. Okay?”

Ned nodded. He was definitely used to helping set up the lies by now.

“Wow,” MJ said, seeming a little impressed, “You guys lie with such ease.”

Peter shrugged, already heading for the window.

“Okay, gotta go.”

“Wait!” MJ said. Peter turned, and the part of his brain that wasn’t dealing with Mysterio kind of hoped for a kiss for good luck. Which, now he thought about it, was unlikely, considering she… He didn’t have time to get distracted by personal relationship problems. Needless to say, she didn’t kiss him. Instead, MJ tossed him the projector. “You’re going to need this.”

Peter nodded.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Anyone who knows is in danger.”

MJ simply shrugged, but Peter could sense she was nervous. He just couldn’t think of anything to say to calm her down, so he leaped out the window and swung towards the train station. He was lucky it was only a few minutes away.

* * *

One of the many advantages to being Spider-Man was that he didn’t actually need to _pay_ for a train ticket, he just dropped on top of the train as it was pulling out of the station to head to Berlin. It wasn’t the comfiest of train seats, sat on the roof and holding on for his life, but the journey was only four hours, and the suit protected him from the worst of the cold air.

* * *

As the train started to pull into the Berlin station, Peter stood up, holding on to… well, he wasn’t entirely sure what that bit of the train did, but it kept him balanced as he shook out his legs, stretched, and then jumped off the train to swing down from the platform to the street below. He landed in a roll, which seemed to shock some of the passers-by.

Okay. Next question, where the hell was he. And where was the EuroPol headquarters?

“Uh, excuse me?” he asked, walking up to a business-woman, “Do you know where – ?”

The woman backed away, circling around him and avoiding eye contact. Well, that wasn’t going to be helpful. And he’d left EDITH back in Prague, in case Beck tried to steal it from him while he was isolated.

Peter started to walk down the sidewalk, trying to find a map, when a car skidded to a stop. Peter had to say, for secret spies, SHIELD agents’ choice of posh black sedans was… less-than-subtle.

The window rolled down, and Peter swallowed as Nick Fury glanced at him from the driver’s seat.

“Get in.”

Peter opened the door hurriedly and slid in. He’d barely closed the door before the car sped off. Peter pulled his mask off, taking a deep breath, and opened his mouth to explain.

“Wait until we’re secure.”

Peter hesitated. This was _urgent_. But, at the same time, this was Nick Fury. Everything was probably urgent. If he said they needed to wait until they were secure, it was probably best to wait. Peter nodded, then settled back into the seat. It was impossibly comfortable after four hours crouched on top of a train.

* * *

Peter let out a low whistle as Fury led him through the clean, modern halls of the EuroPol headquarters in Berlin. He’d replaced his mask before they’d pulled into the street-level parking, and he was already itchy after the ten-minute walk from the car up to one of the offices, which was simply a conference room with smoked glass windows. Peter checked that the door was closed before flipping the goggles on the mask up, scratching just under his eye.

“So, care to tell us what you’re doing in Berlin?” Fury asked, walking around the table to stand next to Hill.

“You were spotted by a number of people swinging about in a _very_ Spider-Man-like manner. Newspapers are already linking Spider-Man and this ‘Night Monkey’.” Peter grimaced under the mask.

“Look, I know I’ve screwed up the plan to keep Spider-Man anonymous in Europe, but this is more important. Beck is not who you think he is.” However much Fury and SHIELD might be annoyed at Peter messing up the Night Monkey disguise, the threat from Beck was more important. “He’s a liar. Mysterio, the Elementals, it’s all fake.”

Fury blinked and straightened slightly. Peter had evidently got his interest.

“He has some sort of illusion tech, using… incredibly advanced projectors,” Peter said, sliding the still slightly webbed projector across the glass table, “I pulled this off the ‘fire monster’ in Prague.”

Fury thought for a moment.

“So all that death and destruction we witnessed was created by… this?” Fury asked, gesturing to the projector, “It’s all fake?”

“No,” Peter said, thinking back on what EDITH had told him, “I think he’s connected them to stolen Stark Combat Drones. From what I got from EDITH scanning it, Beck’s been stealing drones for months, rewiring them, taking them off the main network, and probably setting up his own system to direct them all. Then it uses the drone’s weaponry to cause the Elemental projections to actually deal damage.”

Fury raised an eyebrow at Peter, before nodding and looking towards Hill.

“If this is accurate, then Beck is very dangerous, and we need to be smart. If he got access to Stark’s AI, and all the combat drones, I don’t know how we’d stop him.”

Then Fury looked at Peter pointedly.

“You don’t have the glasses with you, do you?”

Peter shook his head.

“I left them with someone I can trust, but – ”

“You just _left_ access to a global network of combat drones with _a school-friend_?” Fury asked, stunned.

“… but I think it will only work when I wear the glasses,” Peter added.

“You _think_?” Peter clearly hadn’t eased Fury’s worries, “Parker, do you have any idea what Beck would do with access to all the combat drones? If he did this much damage with only a handful of stolen drones, what could he do with an army of them?!”

Peter hesitated. The itch had grown worse. Much worse. It wasn’t even an itch anymore, it was more like…

Peter swore. _A Tingle._

Fury looked at him in surprise. Apparently swearing out loud was out of character for Peter. He normally kept it inside his head, if only because he didn’t want to risk May hearing it and berating him for his _language_.

“Parker? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Beck,” Peter answered, looking around. Now he knew what he was looking for, he could see the hints. The glass table hadn’t scratched at all. There was an almost unnoticeable blurring in the corners of the room. “He’s here.”

Peter closed down his goggles instinctively. A flicker of blue light ran through the room as the illusion vanished. The clean white walls gave way to old concrete, the smart and unscratched glass table revealed itself to be made of wood. The building was barely half-built. Then Agent Hill vanished. Another illusion.

Fury drew his gun immediately, but a sudden blast of weapons from behind Peter knocked the man off his feet, slamming him into the wall, where he slumped, unmoving. Peter immediately started moving, trying to avoid the drone’s shots as he moved towards the heaped body.

“Fury!”

A shot caught him in the shoulder and he span, smashed over a half-built wall by the force of the impact. He fell down a shaft, slamming into the hard concrete of each level, before landing heavily on the ground. He was back on the first floor. _Ow._

 _“Wow, Peter.”_ Beck’s offended voice echoed around the room, seeming to come from everywhere at once, _“Wow.”_

Peter tried to block the noise out, carefully forcing himself onto his hands and knees, then pushing himself to his feet. _Ow. Ow. Ow._

 _“Fury always had to die, but not you!”_ Beck seemed to be enjoying his supervillain monologuing, which, Peter had to admit, was _very_ impressive with the audio illusions. He looked around him as drones became visible, surrounding him, weapons targeting him.

“Stop hiding, Beck!” Peter yelled into the room, trying to web a drone. It dodged easily, and flickered back into invisibility. Or maybe it had never been there at all. The rest of the drones vanished, and then, the building.

 _“I tried to help you walk away. You didn’t need to get involved.”_ Beck almost sounded sad. _“But now you’re making me do this.”_

Peter tried to swallow a shudder at how effective the illusions were. He looked down and swore. He was wearing his ordinary suit. The Stark suit. The one that was hidden in his suitcase, hundreds of miles away. Wasn’t it?

A rattle from behind him and he span, stumbling backwards as fluorescent lighting seemed to drop from above. And then, he was there. Mysterio, in full battle armour. Even knowing it might not be him, Peter instinctively fired webs at him. Or tried to. The only thing that came out of his web-shooters was the green smoke that Mysterio used.

_“You told me you were just a kid. You didn’t want the responsibility.”_

He stumbled backwards as Mysterio vanished, then the voice came from behind him.

_“You told me you were going to run after that girl.”_

Peter span, lashing out at the fishbowl helmet, and grunted as his fist slammed into a concrete pillar. Then his blood went cold as he heard MJ cry out from his left. He sprinted forwards, slamming through the door that appeared, then pulled up short to prevent himself from sailing into the void.

_The Eiffel Tower._

Peter stared down into the darkness, struck by a vertigo he never normally felt.

“Peter? What’s going on?”

MJ sounded terrified. Peter turned towards her, stood at the very edge of the platform, and took a step towards her, before pulling himself up short.

“I know this isn’t real!” he shouted defiantly.

_“Do you, though?”_

And then Mysterio was there, holding MJ in above the void by the throat. Peter knew what was going to happen before it did, and, despite his brain screaming that it wasn’t real – _couldn’t be_ real – he dived after her falling body as Mysterio released her.

Peter slammed into the ground, head ringing.

 _“I don’t think you know_ what’s _real, Peter.”_

He didn’t. He couldn’t be sure. Damn those fucking hologram projectors. But he knew what he had to do. Peter forced himself to his feet, looking around at the darkness. Before he could get his bearings, the world shifted around him. He watched buildings and streetlights fly past him, and then he jerked to a stop, staring up at his apartment building. Peter stumbled, trying to catch his breath, and a giant fist broke through the front of the building, sending him flying backwards. And then he was falling. It was as if he’d fallen through the edge of reality. Shards of existence were spinning away from him as he fell through the void. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfu–_

_”You need to WAKE UP.”_

Peter slammed into the bonnet of a car, knocking the air out of his lungs. He was outside a construction site, what must have been disguised as the Europol headquarters. Peter’s eyes focused on the broken window he’d been thrown through. That explained the 'shards of reality'.

He rolled off the car, landing heavily on the floor, then pushed himself to his feet. Was it over? Peter scanned the world for _something_ , some clue, some glitch. The sound of breaking glass drew his eyes up, and his stomach dropped as a flood of drones flew out of the windows, and he dropped back into an illusion. Back in the void. Peter jumped as a massive shard of glass landed a metre away from him. Then another behind him. Suddenly, he was surrounded by massive shards of mirrored glass, back in his Stark suit. He stared at himself in the mirror, uncertain.

 _”I would look at yourself.”_ Beck’s voice echoed from everywhere again. Peter stretched out a hand, and then stumbled forwards as he was struck from behind. The reflection from behind him had… come out of the mirror? As soon as the thought entered his head, he was surrounded by reflections, all attacking him.

He didn’t even bother trying to avoid or dodge, he just curled up on the ground and tried to weather the beatings. The solid weight of hundreds – thousands – of his reflections pressed him into the smooth cold floor.

_“You are just a scared little kid in a sweat-suit!”_

The reflections were gone, and Peter stumbled to his feet, looking down at his old suit. His homemade suit. The one that was still hidden in the roof of his room in the flat in Queens, on the other side of an ocean. Where was he?!

He felt stone under his feet.

_“I created Mysterio to give the world someone to believe in! A new guardian for the world!”_

Peter stared up at a massive stone statue of Mysterio that loomed out of the darkness.

_“I control the truth! Mysterio. IS. The Truth!”_

The voice warped, shaking the world, and almost disguising the sound of Mysterio landing behind Peter. He span to face the figure, dodging blasts of energy. He fired off shots of webbing, but he was just trying to survive.

Mysterio paused, floating in mid-air, and Peter took advantage of the hesitation, firing two webs to hit him in the chest. Peter waited for the feeling of it hitting something, then pulled anyway when it felt like it would go on forever.

Mysterio vanished, and Peter leaped out of the way of the crane that fell through the darkness towards him. Again, Mysterio was there, blasting away at him, but Peter kept leaping and dodging. He couldn’t keep doing this. A blast hit him, and he stumbled. Then he swore heavily as a massive stone fist wavered, before starting to tip towards him. Peter knew he couldn’t dodge it. He hunkered down, trying to minimise the damage of the crash. It never came.

Peter was on his knees, back in his Stark suit. He looked up and went cold.

_“If you were good enough, maybe Tony would still be alive.”_

Peter stared at the gravestone, trying to blink away tears.

_Anthony Edward Stark._

Peter leant forwards instinctively, pressing a hand against the cold stone. He bowed his head, trying to still the thoughts battering the inside of his skull.

Then he fell backwards, pure, unadulterated fear coursing through him. An impossibly familiar gauntlet-clad hand had ripped through the earth. Peter scrambled backwards, trying not to scream in horror, as the battered and crumpled Iron Man armour dragged itself from the earth. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the half-destroyed mask, revealing the empty eye-socket of the skull beneath. As he stared the… the… It _couldn’t_ be an illusion. It _had_ to be an illusion. But _what if it wasn’t?_

Peter felt his head ache. He was about to pass out. He couldn’t do it.

_“Deep down, you know I’m right.”_

Peter swallowed a sob, trying to focus on something, anything, to quieten the voices in his head, the pounding of his heart, the grinding of the –

And then he was running. He didn’t know where to, or what was behind him, but he ran. His legs ached. How long had he been running? The thought crossed his mind as he slammed into something, knocking him back into… snow?

The world seemed to shake as buildings rose out of the snow. Even in the midst of confusion and terror, the kid from Queens in him still recognised the iconic landmarks. The Empire State Building. The Avengers tower. The Statue of Liberty. But too close. Too small. And then the pieces fell together, even in his scrambled mind.

A snow globe. He was trapped in a snow globe.

 _“You made your choice.”_ Impossibly, Beck’s voice was louder than it had ever been, beating down on Peter from every direction. It was like the voice of God himself. Peter’s head rung with the words. _“All you had to do was come with me for drinks, give me the glasses, and run back to your class trip. I would have let you live! I would have let your_ friends _live..._ _But now? I have to–”_

A gunshot cut through the world, surprisingly muffled. The illusion vanished.


	13. Is This The Real Life?

Peter was sat outside the construction yard, and Beck was stood in front of him, wearing some sort outfit which, the only currently sane part of Peter’s brain rationalised, must be used by the projectors to dictate Mysterio’s movements.

Beck fell to his knees, gasping for breath, then tipped forwards onto the ground, and Peter felt pure relief fill him as he spotted Fury limping closer, gun raised.

The crunching of gravel filled Peter’s ears as two large black SUVs pulled up.

_Was it over? Was that it?_

“Fury,” Peter croaked out, pushing himself to his feet uncertainly. He _ached_ , everywhere.

“Beck’s people will try to find everyone who could expose him, and he’ll be after EDITH.” Fury began without preamble, “Who’d you tell? And where are the glasses?”

Peter took a steadying breath.

“I know you told _someone_ ,” Fury prompted almost immediately, “So just tell me. Who else did you tell?!”

Peter flinched, mouth moving automatically.

“J-just Ned and MJ from my class.” He was tripping over the words. “Maybe Ned told his girlfriend, Betty, but that’s it!”

Fury shook his head, laughing softly. Peter felt a twinge of concern at his expression.

“What?”

A smile made its way onto Fury’s face, and Peter’s stomach dropped. He recognised that expression, but not from Fury’s face…

“You are _so_ gullible.”

Peter’s mind span. What?

“Just… a _sucker_.”

The illusion vanished, and Peter felt pure fear as he faced Beck. The man was wearing the same projection-base suit, but this time he had some sort of AR helmet that, even in his horror, Peter recognised as the design for Mysterio’s helmet. Then his mind fully caught up with what he’d said, and to who, and what that meant. _Shitshitshit–_

“And now all your friends have to die.”

Peter stumbled backwards as the world vanished into darkness, an impossible mixture of realities colliding. Beck seemed to have combined all of his previous illusions; Peter dodged school lockers dropping from the sky, that turned to glass as they smashed into the ground inches from his feet. Beck was still talking. The small, insistent part of Peter’s mind that was clinging to sanity decided that _of course_ Beck was a villain – he was a natural at the supervillain monologues.

“For what it’s worth, Peter, I really am sorry.” The apology rang hollow as the illusions increased. Even knowing it was fake, Peter still flinched at every impact.

And then the illusions vanished.

_WATCH OUT._

The warning – perhaps Peter’s sixth sense was actually back – drowned out everything but the roar of the approaching train. Peter turned, trying to find a way to dodge, but hesitated as he saw it. He was too late. It was too close.

* * *

Peter knew that superhero movies often had the super-strong hero simply stop an approaching train, or car, simply by staying stationary. Yet another thing that the movies got wrong. The impact would have knocked him off his feet, except the train kept coming. He was fairly certain he was unconscious for the first few seconds, and it was only an instinct that kept him from peeling off the front and being run into the tracks by the train. After a few seconds of only being partly awake – just enough to think simple thoughts like _ow_ and _I just got hit by a train_ and _Am I still alive?_ , Peter realised he needed to get inside the train before he passed out again.

It took all of Peter’s remaining strength to pull himself along the train to an entrance. He all but fell onto the divider, and was leaning on the door to steady himself more than he was opening the door. His legs gave out and he collapsed into the first seat he could find, trying not to cry. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even pull off his mask to breathe properly.

It was almost a relief when he passed out.

* * *

When he came to, the first thing he realised was that he still hurt. _Everywhere._ The second thing was that he wasn’t wearing his mask. The third was that there was an unnaturally smiley man sat next to him. Two, actually. Both wearing bright orange t-shirts. After a moment of focusing his eyes, he realised they were soccer t-shirts.

“Where am I?” Peter croaked out. He wasn’t sure if the pain in his throat when he spoke was from lack of water or being _hit by a train_.

“Municipal holding facility,” answered one of the remarkably happy people. He was in _jail?_

“They said they found you unconscious at the train-yard?” the other asked, “Very dangerous.” The man almost sounded impressed.

“We gave you the t-shirt because you seemed a bit cold.”

Peter jumped at the voice behind him. Another two men, one wearing a… horned Viking helmet. Peter looked down at himself. He had an orange soccer t-shirt laying over him like a duvet. That was… surprisingly thoughtful.

“You guys are nice,” Peter commented, glancing between the four men. “You speak really good English.”

“Welcome to the Netherlands!” they all said together. Peter blinked.

“Am I in the Netherlands right now?” he asked uncertainly. At their nodded confirmation, Peter groaned. He needed to contact Fury, assuming he was still alive. And try and find Ned and MJ, assuming – _NO._ He wouldn’t even think the alternative. _They were alive._

He clambered to his feet and stumbled over to the jail door, calling out for the guard. His legs still ached and felt numb from the train.

“The guard is on a break,” commented one of the Dutch soccer hooligans, “Probably talking to his wife.” Peter really wished _he_ could catch a break, especially if he could talk to MJ. Or Ned. Or anyone, really.

“Yeah, she’s pregnant,” another commented. That seemed to surprise a couple of them, and the four of them started to have a conversation in their native tongue. Peter had to get out of there. He didn’t have time to wait for the guard to finish his break. He reached through the bars of the cell and grasped the padlock. A twitch of his wrist and the padlock snapped like a twig. He unhooked it, sliding the bolt open and pushing the door open. He almost didn’t hesitate as he left, but out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a man – who he assumed was the prison guard – wearing the mask from the stealth suit. Peter raised an eyebrow, then left the mask for a lost cause. Maybe it would spark up a discussion about the Night Monkey, which might take some of the heat away from Spider-Man. Hopefully.

* * *

Peter was a little surprised not to see any guards whatsoever leaving the ‘municipal holding facility’. Once he’d exited the cell, he simply walked out into the sunlight. There wasn’t even a receptionist he could get answers out of. After a few minutes of walking, Peter ended up in some sort of market. He pulled the soccer shirt over his suit – trying to blend in as much as he could – and walked up to the first person he could find.

“Excuse me, sir? Could I borrow your phone?” Peter asked, already preparing to beg.

“Yeah,” the man said simply, handing it over. Peter was taken aback.

“Everyone is so nice here,” he muttered, before staring down at the phone uncertainly. _Who to call?_ Fury was out of the question. He didn’t even know the man’s number. He couldn’t call MJ or Ned, because Beck could be tapping their phones. He couldn’t call Mr Harrington or anyone else from his trip, because they didn’t know he was Spider-Man, and he was supposed to be with family in Berlin. Aunt May was out of the question. She’d panic and try and get him sent home immediately, and Peter _had_ to deal with Beck. _Happy._ He dialled the number from memory.

The phone connected.

 _“Happy Hogan. Who is this?”_ Peter almost cried at the sound of his voice.

“Hey, uh…” He wasn’t sure what to say. He opted for simplicity and honesty. “I’ve messed up. I need a ride.”

 _“Peter?"_ Happy's voice seemed torn between shock and concern, _"Of course! Where are you?”_

 _Good question,_ Peter thought.

“Where am I?” He glanced at the vendor. “Uh, where am I, sir?”

“Is Broek op Langedijk.”

Peter had too much of a headache to even think about repeating that.

“Hang on,” he muttered to Happy, before holding out the phone, “Could you say that into there?”

“Hi?” the man said, leaning in to the phone, “Is Broek op Langedijk.” A moment passed. “No problem!”

Peter withdrew the phone, holding it against his ear to listen.

“Did you get that?” he asked uncertainly, because _he_ certainly hadn't.

* * *

Peter was a little amazed at how quickly Happy got there. He knew the Stark jets were fast, but he was expecting to be waiting there for most of the day. It was barely a few hours before the man – a kind grocer by the name of Dael Jansen – got another phone call to tell Peter to head out into a flower field nearby. Apparently, it was the closest open, flat area that Happy could land the jet in.

Peter instinctively ducked as the jet flew in, low enough to buffet him with air, before pulling up and landing straight down in the middle of the field. He limped towards the jet as the side unfolded into a set of stairs, and the figure of Happy Hogan appeared in the doorway.

“Peter? Are you okay?”

Peter really didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if it was the physical strain of the fight and the train hitting him, or the mental after-effects of Beck’s illusions, but Peter felt drained. He couldn’t focus. It was like the whole world was still an illusion. _Was it?_

“Happy? Is that you?” Peter was too tired to even think about the idiocy in asking an illusion if it was an illusion.

“Is it me? Y-yeah, of course it’s me!” With Beck involved, there was no ‘of course’ about it. It sounded like Happy. It _looked_ like Happy. It either was Happy, or a perfect illusion. The problem was, Beck’s illusions _were_ perfect. Happy was still walking closer. Closing the distance.

“Stop!” Peter yelled, holding up a hand to… he really didn’t know, ward Happy off? If it _was_ an illusion, Peter couldn’t take on even one of Beck’s drones.

Happy stopped immediately.

“Tell me something only you would know!”

“Only I would know? Uhh…” Happy thought. Was it Beck trying to come up with a believable lie? Or just a confused man trying to think of something unique? “Y-w-remember when we went to Germany?” That was a good start, but Beck probably knew Spider-Man had been in Germany, and if he had access to EDITH, he might know Happy took him. “You paid to view videos in your room,” Happy continued, “They didn’t list the titles, but I could tell by the price they were adult films at the front desk…”

Peter flushed at the remembered embarrassment. He supposed that was good enough.

“You didn’t know how I knew?”

“Okay, okay!” Peter interrupted. He really did _not_ need to relive the entire conversation. “Fine, it’s you. It’s you!”

Finally, Peter let himself relax. He limped towards Happy and pulled him into a hug, almost hanging off the older man.

“It’s so good to see you.” And _know_ it is you, he added silently.

“You got to tell me what the hell’s going on here,” Happy said, evidently confused.

“Once…” Peter took a breath, “Once we’re on the plane.”


	14. I Love Led Zeppelin!

Peter let out a breath through his teeth as Happy continued to sew up the deep cut on his shoulder. His whole body was aching, but the needle-points still sent spasms of pain along his shoulder blade.

“Ouch,” he said pointedly, closing his eyes in pain.

“I thought you had super-strength?” Happy asked drily. Peter really didn’t have time for sarcastic questions.

“It still hurts,” he muttered, drumming a finger on the table to distract himself. Another stab of pain.

“­ _Happy_ ,” Peter groaned.

“Relax!”

Peter clenched his jaw. He couldn’t relax. It was taking all his effort to keep himself from a mental breakdown.

“Just a few m–” Peter slammed the table as a tug on the needle sent a spasm of pain down the cut.

“Oh my _God_ , Happy…”

“­ _Relax_.”

“Don’t tell me to relax!” Peter snapped, standing up angrily. “How can I relax when I-I messed up so bad?” He was already fighting back tears. Happy sat back, taking his glasses off and looking up at Peter, expression calm.

“I trusted Beck,” Peter said, torn between grief and anger, “I thought he was my friend, I was _going_ to give him the glasses, and then I fell for his stupid fucking trick, so now he’s going to kill my friends and half of Europe, so _please_. Do _not_ tell me to relax.”

The anger drained out of him as Happy kept watching him calmly, and he sank into another chair, dropping his head into his hands. Immediately, he felt guilty. Happy had flown a quarter of the way around the world to pick him up after his own idiocy got him stuck in jail in the middle of nowhere.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t shout,” Peter said, breathing heavily and sitting back in the chair. “I just… really miss him.”

“Yeah, I miss him too,” Happy agreed, nodding sadly. Peter opened his mouth, then hesitated.

“Everywhere I go… I see his face. And the whole world is asking who’s going to be the next Iron Man and…” He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I don’t know if that’s me, Happy. I’m not Iron Man.”

Peter stared at Happy, looking for… he really didn’t know what, but Happy’s response stunned him.

“You’re not Iron Man,” Happy agreed, shaking his head, “You’re never going to be Iron Man.”

Peter took a deep breath, trying not to break down any more than he already had.

“Nobody can live up to Tony. Not even Tony.”

Peter was speechless, so Happy continued.

“Tony was my best friend, and he was a mess,” Happy confided, looking away in reminiscence. “He second-guessed everything he did. He was all over the place.”

Peter found himself leaning forwards in his seat, drinking in everything he could about Tony. If even Iron Man was unsure about himself… maybe Peter wasn’t as weak, as messed up, as he’d thought.

“The _only_ thing that he did that he didn’t second-guess was picking you.”

Peter gritted his teeth against the sob that tried to force its way out.

“I don’t think Tony would have done what he did if he didn’t know that you were gonna be here after he was gone.”

Peter wiped at his eyes, trying to focus. After a moment he nodded uncertainly.

“Now, your friends are in trouble, you’re all alone, your tech is missing. What are you gonna do about it?”

The pep talk was over. Peter took a deep breath and thought for a moment. He had to do _something_. He stood up, feeling a lot steadier than he had in days.

“I’m gonna kick his ass,” Peter announced. Possibly not the best one-liner, but he thought it got the point across.

“I mean-I mean, I mean right now,” Happy amended, “Like, specifically. What are we gonna do? Because we’ve been hovering over a tulip field for the last fifteen minutes, and Dutch air control are going to start asking questions.”

Peter thought.

“Right. Um. I can’t call my friends, because Beck might be tracking their phones.”

Then he thought of something. There was _one_ way to see what the class was doing anonymously.

“Give me your phone,” Peter said hurriedly, holding out his hand. Happy hesitated.

“My… my cell phone?” he asked, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling it out.

“Yeah,” Peter said, plucking the phone out of Happy’s hand and pacing the length of the cabin. “What’s your password?”

“‘Password’,” Happy repeated.

“No, what _is_ your password?” Peter asked clearly.

“ _‘Password’_. The word spelled out. ‘Password’.” Peter stared at him.

“You’re the head of security and your password is ‘password’?” Happy looked embarrassed.

“I don’t feel good about it either.”

Peter shook his head and entered the password easily, flicking to Instagram and searching for the livestream that he _knew_ would be running. _SpideyNo1Fan_.

 _“’Ello guv-nor. Cup of tea for you?”_ Peter tried not to laugh as Flash’s terrible British accent filtered through the phone’s speakers. _“I’m gonna be in London soon–”_ Peter paused the stream, turning to look at Happy.

“They’re in London.”

“London? Okay,” Happy said, standing up quickly and heading for the cockpit.

“Yeah, uh, I need a suit!” Peter called. Happy glanced back with a smile.

“A suit?” He grinned proudly and stepped into the cockpit, flicking a switch on the roof. With a mechanical whir, the back of the cabin opened to reveal an incredibly high-tech Stark workshop. Peter’s eyes widened. _Holy shit._

He hurried into the workshop, drinking in all the technology it had. 3D- and nanotech-printers, interactive holographic CAD projectors, a body-scanner to perfectly fit the suit… Peter grinned to himself as he held his hand over the scanner. With a beep, the scanner accepted his palm and the technology came to life. Immediately, a desktop of applications and save-files opened up in front of him, projected above the table.

“Okay,” Peter said, a little stunned, “Um… Bring up everything you have on Spider-Man.”

Holographic representations of more than twenty different suits. Peter scrolled through them, then decided to start from scratch. He loaded up one of the empty storage slots and smiled slightly as the old Stark suit came up as a default template. He opened up the creatively named ‘Spidey Accessories’ tab and flicked through the list, dismissing most of them on sight. The Iron Spider arms he recognised, but wouldn’t help against the combat drones, and tentacles? Way too excessive. He’d spend hours learning everything.

* * *

After he’d settled on a basic suit design, a holographic gauntlet appeared to give him greater manoeuvrability in the hologram. He slotted his hand into the gauntlet and smiled to himself as it resized to fit his hand. He heard a cough from behind him and turned to see Happy watching him, an almost reminiscent smile on his face.

“What?” Peter asked, feeling a little awkward.

“Nothing,” Happy replied, shaking his head lightly and turning back towards the cabin. “You take care of the suit, I’ll take care of the music.”

A moment later, _Back in Black_ started blaring through the speakers.

“Oh, I love Led Zeppelin!” Peter called to the front, grinning. He knew it had annoyed Tony, and still infuriated Happy, when he mixed up artists. ‘ _Kids these days have no appreciation for real music.’_

* * *

“Okay, bring me up the webshooter,” Peter asked the workshop’s AI. The hologram showed the disassembled elements of the webshooter, and Peter frowned at them, thinking. He needed to eliminate Beck’s drones, so he’d need more than simple webs. Electrified webs, maybe? Peter scrolled through a list of web templates. _Taser webs?_ Peter read, _they could be perfect._

“Isolate the taser webs?” He scanned the hurriedly appearing statistics, “And boost the voltage by a factor of… by twenty five percent,” he corrected. No need to fry the whole of London. “And give me complete manual control of detonation.”

That might let him web up the droids, then taser them all at once before Beck realised what he was doing.

* * *

Peter almost drifted into a trance as he worked on the suit, running tests and double-checking all the measurements, and the next thing he knew, Happy was checking in on him to tell him they were crossing the Dover cliffs and would be approaching London soon. Apparently the Brits were more accepting of SHIELD advice and had grounded all non-essential flights, though they weren’t going so far as evacuating the entire city. Peter sighed. That meant more damage minimisation for him. But he’d also be the one having to fight all of Beck’s drones. So much to do. So much pressure.

He supposed that’s what it was to be an Avenger.

* * *

“Okay, Fury’s got the coded message,” Happy called out, walking back to the workshop as the jet automatically made the journey towards London, “Your friends are at the Tower Bridge. Fury called it the London Bridge, but I figured it out. I’m gonna go scoop ‘em up. How’s the suit coming?”

Peter glanced at the fabricator that was stitching his suit. He’d filled the material input with webbing that he’d generated from scratch in about five minutes, using a frankly _remarkable_ chemical production machine, and the fabricator was turning the webbing into a suit that _should_ , if Peter’s guess was accurate, fit and flex, while still providing enough protection to keep him safe.

“Almost done.”

Then he hesitated, suddenly uncertain. What if it all went wrong? He reached into his pocket and pulled out the box he'd reclaimed from the 'inmates box' in the Netherlands, removing the necklace and tossing the box onto the table. He checked over the necklace one last time, then held it for a moment, before carefully offering it to Happy.

“If…” He paused, taking a breath, then started over. “If something happens to me, can you please give this to MJ?”

Happy looked at him.

“You’re going to make it back,” he assured Peter calmly. “You’ll give it to her yourself. But I’ll keep it for you.”

Peter swallowed, nodding.

“Okay. I-I got this.”

Happy smiled.

“Now, walk me through it all.”

Peter closed his eyes to properly picture the plan.

“I know it’s illusion tech. All I have to do is get on the _inside_ of the illusion, then I can take it down. And then I can find him, and he’s… just a guy, so I can stop him easily enough once that’s done.”

Happy nodded.

“Right. Stop the illusion, kick his ass, save the world.”

“Get the girl,” Peter added hopefully. Happy smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

“One step at a time, kid.”

Peter nodded. He had to stay focused.

“They’re just illusions. It should be easy enough if I can remember they’re just illusions.”

Happy frowned.

“Last time you got hit by a train.”

 _Well, yeah._ Peter had to admit it was a fair point.

“That is true, _but_ … this time… I have, like, a sixth-sense?”

“The Peter Tingle,” Happy agreed, nodding. Peter sighed. “That’s what you’re talking about, right? But it’s not working. I heard it wasn’t working.”

Peter groaned. Why was Aunt May talking about personal issues with people like Happy? Especially using the damn _Peter Tingle_ name.

“It… it is working,” he said, before backtracking, “Well, I don’t know – ”

“So you’ve got your Peter Tingle!” Peter tried not to face-palm. Would Happy and May never stop calling it the Peter Tingle? Maybe they _were_ suited for each other. _Stop getting distracted!_ “That’s the plan. Okay, I’m going to go get your friends. You get the Peter Tingle back online.”

Peter didn’t even have the energy to argue, he was so distracted.

“I got this. I got this. I got this.”

Peter stared down at the fabricator as his suit built itself, repeating the words as a mantra.


	15. London Bridge is Falling Down

_“Alright, comms check. Can you hear me, kid?”_ Peter would have expected Happy’s voice to be completely drowned out by the rushing wind, but the suit seemed to have _excellent_ passive noise reduction. It was almost as crisp audio as EDITH.

“Yeah, I can, loud and clear.”

_“I like the new suit.”_

“Thanks,” Peter replied, looking into the jet’s cockpit through the window at Happy. Yes, he was stuck to the outside of a jet as it flew over London. No, he was fairly certain it wasn’t legal. It certainly wasn’t particularly sensible.

_“Woah.”_

Looking at the Elemental – the _illusion_ , he reminded himself forcefully – Peter thought that Happy’s response was an understatement. The monster looked _massive_. The storm clouds dwarfed every building in London, and seemed to stretch over a few blocks. Peter swallowed nervously.

_“Are you sure that’s not real?”_

“Yeah,” Peter assured him quickly, “It’s just a hundred times bigger than I expected!”

 _“Still following the plan?”_ Happy asked. Peter thought quickly. The size _shouldn’t_ matter. In fact, it might give him more of a disguise to arrive unseen.

“Uhuh,” Peter confirmed, “We need to get high enough so Beck doesn’t see me coming.”

If Beck was viewing everything through the drones, he’d see anything approaching the illusion below the height of the storm clouds. Of course, if he was viewing everything through the drones, Peter wouldn’t have must time to destroy the illusion anyway, so his arrival wasn’t as important.

“Stay sticky!” The part of his mind that wasn’t focused on the upcoming battle – which was most of it – or screaming at himself that _it’s not an illusion you’re going to die_ – which was slightly less of it – stored that for later use. It was a cool tag-line, especially for his PR with kids, not that he was planning on letting Happy _know_ that.

Peter felt his ears pop as the plane increased in altitude, then felt his suit attempt to equalise the pressure as much as it could.

“Hey, Happy!” Peter said pointedly, “We need to have a serious conversation about you and my aunt!” The last word probably devolved into a yell as Peter released the side of the plane, immediately being ripped away by the wind and falling towards the ground. Peter span to straighten himself, then hit the AI equivalent of the pull-cord. He felt a light twitch as the parachute opened behind him, then a sudden jerk as it took his weight. When he thought he was low enough, he detached the parachute and opened his gliders, seamlessly moving from an all-but-freefall to a rapid but targeted glide. He passed under the London Bridge – Tower Bridge, he corrected himself – and then he was headed straight for what looked to be a wall of molten earth.

“It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not re–” Peter instinctively flinched as he passed through the illusion, and then he clipped a drone and only just managed to catch onto another one before he fell through the whole illusion. Peter took a deep breath, then looked around and let out a begrudging “woah”. He had to admit, Beck’s illusions were _incredibly_ well designed. And now he was inside it. Seeing the drones moving in formation to represent attacks, and the Elemental itself? It was amazing. And the fact he was only doing it with a couple of hundred drones was… well, it was a lesson in pragmatics and waste-not that even Peter was amazed at. Beck had clearly been stealing drones for months, all in preparation for this. Each drone seemed to be projecting as much of the illusion as was physically possible without leaving gaps, so Beck and his team – because Peter assumed he had a pretty large team to do all this – could make as large an Elemental as possible with the stolen drones.

Then Peter realised he was wasting valuable destroying-the-illusion time. He slapped one end of a taser web onto the drone he was hanging off, then backflipped to another. It was a life-or-death agility course against the clock, jumping between drones as quickly as he could before Beck noticed something was wrong.

* * *

He’d webbed up maybe thirty drones when the first reel of taser-web ran out, which was luckily just as he ran out of drones he could risk jumping between. Hopefully the destruction of that set of drones would cause a cascade reaction and destroy more of the drones than he could hope to reach himself. Peter detached the final bit of the reel, then switched to what he was considering the _charge_ reel. He stuck it to the final drone and prepared to evacuate the area. The easiest way was down. Peter took a breath, then let himself fall backwards off the drone, trailing out charge web as he fell through the drones.

“God, I hope this works,” Peter muttered to himself, slapping the taser detonator on the symbol on his chest.

It did.

Peter watched in awe as he saw the charge race up the web towards the drone. Almost as soon as it made contact, the linking webbing ignited. Peter had the sudden image of a firework, or perhaps lightning, as he watched the strands of light spreading out across the sky. A moment later, the first drones stopped projecting. It started off small. Peter imagined there might be a small hole in the monster’s face. Then one of the drones exploded, and a bunch of drones went offline, possibly temporarily vanishing the monster’s arm, or perhaps sticking a hole in its stomach.

The hole that appeared in the illusion just in front of where Peter clung to a drone revealed a glass walkway bridge, and Peter felt the mask enhance the image. He saw Beck stood, staring at him, flanked by drones.

“Show’s over, Beck,” Peter muttered, flinging himself towards the bridge as fast as he could. He sailed towards the centre of the bridge, quite pleased with his trajectory. He’d come through the main window, stick the super-hero landing right in front of Beck, and make a quip, like –

A drone rammed him, knocking him off course and sending him slamming into the lower part of the bridge’s walkway.

 _“Ow,”_ Peter groaned as he collided with the bridge, then dropped onto the car bridge below. He felt a flare of pain as he flattened a railing that was almost disguised by the _other_ pain from his body hitting the concrete. _OW!_

He _really_ wanted to just lie there in pain for a little while, but he knew he didn’t have time. He had to get up. It took him a second, but he slowly dragged himself to his feet. It probably would have been much easier to stand up, except some inconsiderate superhero had flattened the railing with their body. The thought made Peter laugh, then wince at the pain.

“No laughing,” he muttered to himself, before swearing as a massive explosion appeared over some by the castle. _The jet!_

“Happy, are you okay?” he almost yelled into the microphone.

_“Yeah, we’re okay. Just go get Beck!”_

Peter looked up at the bridge, thinking. It shouldn’t be _impossible_ to get up there, even with the drones making a protective perimeter around the bridge. He could get through a gap, then through the window. Then the quip. Easy!

Then, the drones started firing.

* * *

He had to say, Stark Combat Drones were _annoying_. Peter sprinted along the bridge, trailed by explosions as abandoned cars erupted in flames. He needed to get off the ground. He fired a web onto a flagpole, then flung himself over the side of the bridge. His momentum carried him around and up, and he released it as he felt himself reaching the apex of the swing. He tried not to lose any momentum as he sprang from drone to drone, then whipped out another web to send him around the tower in the middle of the bridge. He could do this all day!

* * *

As Peter slammed into the roof of a black cab, he reconsidered his cocky approach to avoiding the drones. Maybe he could _not_ do this all day. Peter had heard of the saying ‘a downward spiral’. That always made him think of a fairly controlled, or at least gentle, decline. He felt like he’d just gone through a downward drop, which he supposed he had. An explosion where he’d been about to land had thrown him off his stride, and then it had been a very, very quick streak of mess-up after mess-up until he’d lost his footing and dented one of the most famous symbols of London. Not that it had looked in very good shape before he’d hit it.

No one was responding to his almost stream-of-consciousness rambles into the microphone, and Peter’s mind immediately went to the worst. It _couldn’t_ be.

“Happy! Say something! Please?! Are any of you alive?!”

Finally, a response, remarkably calm.

_“Yeah, I’m here.”_

Peter almost cried at Happy’s voice. He was _way_ too overemotional right now.

“Happy, thank God.”

 _“I bought us some time,”_ Happy announced, and Peter’s heart rose. _They were safe!_ Then a low buzzing sound came through the speaker, and Happy added regretfully, _“…but not much.”_

“I’ll try and get to Beck, but I can’t shake these drones,” Peter complained. He needed to move, but also move his cover. A flash of inspiration, and Peter stuck his hand to the cab’s door, before firing a webbing upwards. _Going up._

Peter and cab rose into the air rapidly, and he tried to see how many drones were coming up to follow him under the cab. He spotted a bunch underneath, then released the cab, pushing off it and watching as the cab crushed the drones, then slammed into the bridge and exploded. _Five down, three hundred and sixty something to go_. Peter thought. _Roughly_. He was a little too preoccupied to keep proper count, and they kept moving!

He’d used the cab as a springboard, and easily landed on the roof of the bridge. He thought he might get a breather, but the squad of drones turning to face him made him doubt that.

Then, the drones started breathing _fire_. Well, not breathing. Spewing. Expelling. Peter assumed they had flamethrowers on them. Why they needed flamethrowers, Peter had no idea. _Damn, Mister Stark, back at it again with the excessive weaponry._

Peter threw himself off the bridge – _again_ – but still got caught by the flames. Luckily, the suit was flame-retardant, but it still got oppressively hot almost immediately. He was on fire. Peter swung in short bursts, not particularly wanting his webbing to catch fire, before he slipped through some of the metal suspension cables supporting the bridge. He flicked out a web-bomb that stuck to the drone leading the chase, then let out a whoop as the bomb exploded, trapping the entire squad of drones in webbing, suspending them between the cables. _Like flies in a web,_ Peter thought, before shaking his head. _Way too cliché. Must work on more original spider-related puns,_ he noted to himself with a grimace. _Preferably when not on fire._

He swung low over the water, then accidentally dipped into the river, losing a little momentum but extinguishing the last of the flames. He hurriedly detached from the swing before re-webbing, and catapulted himself up to the bridge. He landed on a drone and hung on for a moment, before releasing his grip just as another burst of drone-fire took out his ride. He webbed the attacking drone, then swung around it, using the momentum of the swing to send him over the two sections of the walkway. A quick shot of his multi-strand web almost entirely covered the gap between the two buildings. Now all he had to do was lead the drones there. A hurried glance behind him as he swung around one of the buildings showed a couple of squads following him. That’d be enough.

He circled the walkway and shot up to land in the middle of the webbing, which stretched at his impact, then flexed down. Peter covered his head on the descent, but somehow managed to avoid all the drones that got caught in the webbing. When he was close enough to the ground, he released the webbing and dropped onto the bridge again, sticking the landing perfect–

* * *

Peter slammed into yet another car. His insurance premiums would skyrocket, and he hadn’t even taken his driving test! He shook the thought out of his head and looked at the drone that had attacked him with… _Concussion blasts?_ Peter guessed. The nerdy part of him immediately went _Cool!_ before being hurriedly shushed by the part that had to fight the damn things. Another blast of air, and another car slid across the bridge to crush him against the first. He started to pry the cars apart, before a third blast knocked both cars and him over the edge of the bridge.


	16. Peter Tingle

It took almost all of Peter’s effort to drag himself from the river. He ached _everywhere_. He was tired. But he knew he couldn’t give up. If he gave up, Beck would kill him, then his friends, then _MJ_ , then Happy. He’d probably tie up all the loose ends and kill the rest of his class, and Fury. Then he’d probably go on a victory rampage and kill half of Europe or something.

He’d made it back onto the bridge, but he was out of webs, and the remaining drones were in a defensive formation circling the walkway.

A tired thud caught his attention, and after a moment of scanning rubble and twisted metal, he saw the source. A broken combat drone was repeatedly firing concussion blasts up into the air uselessly. Or… perhaps not _uselessly_. Peter’s mind started whirling with the beginnings of a plan. First, to see if it would _work_. Peter snatched up the first thing he could find, a teddy bear dressed up like one of those palace guards with the fluffy hats, and chucked it over to the drone. Sensing a target, the drone fired, shooting the brave soldier up towards the bridge, where it was promptly shredded into fluff by machine-gun fire from the perimeter of drones. Okay. The plan was in motion. Next thing he needed. An explosive thingy. Time to find a spare drone.

* * *

Peter ripped off the drone’s cover and squinted down at the power core. Well, it certainly _looked_ highly explosive. He yanked it out of the casing and considered it.

_Please don’t explode. Please don’t explode. Please don’t explode._

When it didn’t immediately explode, Peter relaxed and weighed it in his hand. It seemed to have enough weight behind it. Next, a handle that he could swing. He’d have preferred to have used webbing, but Peter simply ripped a seatbelt from one of the few remaining things recognisable as a car on the bridge. Hopefully, simply tying the seatbelt around the core would hold it in place securely enough for Peter to swing and throw. And finally, a shield that was big enough that he could stand on it. Peter considered car doors, but most of them were already too badly damaged and dented and, in many cases, simply missing. Then he spotted the sign. Wrought iron, bearing the words _Tower Bridge_. Peter thought it would probably work, and he assumed London would be fine with him ripping up an old sign for the bridge to save the rest of it, and the rest of the city as well.

* * *

Armed and shielded, Peter strode into the middle of the bridge, hopefully looking a lot more confident and heroic than he felt. Then he decided to just go for it. He sprinted along the bridge, raising his makeshift shield as the drones formed a firing wall in the air. _Perfect._ Peter span the makeshift… he supposed it was a grenade – a few times to build up momentum, then, keeping his internal _Yeet!_ silent, he flung the core up into the firing wall.

_Please explode. Please explode. Please explode._

The core erupted, and Peter watched without slowing as the explosion engulfed the entire firing wall. Maybe he was a little bit of an explosion geek. He leapt onto the already damaged drone he was using as an elevator, shield held below him, and gritted his teeth as he was blasted up through the smoke, through the drones, and through the floor of the walkway in a shattering of glass – and stuck to the roof, holding Beck aloft with one hand, while the other punched the man in the face _hard_ , cracking the glass of the AR helmet Beck must have been using to control the drones.

“It's over, Beck,” Peter said angrily. He was too emotionally invested in stopping the lying bastard to come up with a funny quip, or even a more impressive one-liner. Instead of humour, Peter leant into the rage.

“This… certainly isn’t ideal,” Beck commented, disconcertingly unruffled, “But I have contingencies.”

“You d–?” Peter’s question was cut off by a concussion blast from a drone that knocked him from the ceiling and sent him rolling down the walkway, while Beck landed neatly on his feet.

Peter stumbled to his feet, coughing heavily, then glared at Beck.

“Shut them down, Beck. You’ve lost. The world knows you're a fraud.”

Beck simply shrugged as a wall of drones slid to cut off Peter’s access to him, and the drone controls.

“The world will know what I _want_ it to know. But by all means, Peter, come and turn them off yourself.”

The drones vanished. Then Beck. Then the walkway. Peter was stood in blackness. Another illusion. Peter swore it would be the last one Beck would ever make.

Peter sighed. He knew he couldn’t do this by eyesight. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his nerves.

_Come on, Peter Tingle._

* * *

Peter sprinted forwards, trusting everything to his instincts. To his sixth-sense. To his damned _Peter Tingle_. If it got him through this, he swore he’d stop complaining about May’s name for it. He’d _embrace_ the Peter Tingle.

He cleared his thoughts. He stopped the inner monologue. All of his quips were put on hold. His worries, paused. His mind was as black as the illusion. Nothing but the Peter Tingle.

He didn’t say, or even _think_ a word as he made his way down the length of the walkway, avoiding shots before they were fired, springing off invisible drones, dodging in and out of the holes in the walls. Drones crumpled as they fired on each other. One, Peter tossed out of the walkway to fall to its death in the river as its damaged rotors whined. He ripped the barrel off one and drove it through the shell of a third. He grabbed the damaged drone and used it as a shield, holding it in front of him as he charged up the walkway. Beck was raging at the command system, but the words flowed past Peter without comprehension. He was nothing but reactions to things that hadn’t happened yet. Peter felt the Tingle fully unfold its potential in front of him as he _got_ it, finally, but he immediately dismissed the thought. He would deal with it after the fight. Four drones left, the impact of their bullets gradually pushing Peter’s shield, and Peter himself, back down the walkway. Peter surrendered completely to instinct, tossing the destroyed drone away and simply _dodging_ the bullets. He was so focused, he wasn’t even impressed with how focused he was. He drove one drone straight into the one behind it, sending it spinning away and cutting a line of bullets across the walkway as it continued firing blindly, but Peter had already moved on to the next one, which fired a concussion blast, knocking him up into the ceiling. Peter rolled with the attack, simply contracting his legs as they made impact with the ceiling, then sprang towards the drone again, crossing the distance before the drone could retarget him, grappling it, and driving it into the floor with a crunch.

There was a moment’s absolute silence, and then Peter opened his eyes, and all of his senses burst back to life. He let out a groan at the sudden assault of _light_ and _sound_ and _feeling_ , and then his body re-regulated it, dulling it to nothing more than a throbbing ache behind his eyes. Peter searched the walkway for Beck, and then spotted his crumpled body, slumped against the wall. It took a moment for Peter to sort through the chaos of the battle to figure out what had happened. He must have been hit by the out-of-control drone’s shooting. Peter hurried over and knelt next to the man, pulling off his mask.

“Deactivate them!” he ordered, not even bothering with a ‘You Suck’ speech. Even with Beck defeated, the drones might still be active. And then four things happened at exactly the same moment.

  1. Peter realised that Beck wasn’t wearing his AR helmet.
  2. The Peter Tingle took control of Peter’s body and _moved_.
  3. A gunshot ripped through the air beside Peter’s head. Peter actually felt the brush of a bullet ruffling his hair.
  4. The slumped body of Beck flickered out of existence.



It took the space of a heartbeat for Peter to comprehend exactly what had happened. Beck had set up another illusion. He didn’t know when, but that was how Beck had been able to control the drones despite not seeming to wear his headset. He’d been invisible, stood next to Peter even before Peter had defeated the last of the drones. He’d fired a handgun at Peter’s head at point-blank range. Peter had moved both his head and his hand, grabbing Beck’s arm and raising it so the bullet missed. By _millimetres_. Okay, _now_ Peter could be properly impressed with the Tingle.

Peter looked at Beck, twisting his arm until the man dropped the gun. The damaged helmet was flickering.

“You can’t trick me any more,” Peter said flatly, ripping the helmet off Beck’s head and letting him collapse. Apparently being hit by the bullets _hadn’t_ been a trick.

Peter slotted the helmet on – holding the oversized fishbowl in place with one hand – and quickly, but with almost surprising calm, went through the process of deactivating the drones and landing them safely.

_“Cancel all processes and land all drones at nearest safe landing point. Confirm?”_

Peter took a breath.

“Con-confirm.”

_“All processes cancelled. Drones landing.”_

Peter watched breathlessly as the few semi-functional drones in the walkway de-powered with an electronic whine, then he stumbled over to the window to look down at the others as he pulled the helmet off and dropped it at his feet, where it finally shattered. Maybe a hundred and seventy remaining drones slowly drifted to the banks of the Thames and settled down silently. A few of the ones with partially damaged processors ignored the ‘safe’ part of ‘nearest safe landing point’ and simply dropped into the river with muted splashes.

Peter turned back to the body of Beck. He knelt down again and rested a finger against the man’s neck. The onboard scanner in his suit confirmed Peter’s... he wasn’t sure if it was a fear, or a hope, or a belief. Whatever it was – whatever Peter hoped for Beck – the man was dead.

Peter let out a breath – of relief? sadness? He really didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he ever would – and rested his head against the wall of the walkway as he closed the man’s eyes.

Then a thought struck him, and Peter started to his feet and began to run.


	17. Bridge Confession, Take Two

Peter spotted her moving between the still burning cars that covered Tower Bridge and his heart stopped beating for a moment.

“MJ.” The name slipped out of his mouth as he limped towards her. Without another word, Peter pulled her into a tight hug. The part of Peter’s brain that kept an eye on all things MJ – a part that had been gradually growing these past few months – the part that _would_ have told him that this was their first time hugging, and, in fact, the first time he knew of MJ hugging someone, was too distracted chanting _She’s alive! She’s alive! She’s alive!_ , a chant that seemed to be filling Peter’s brain.

“Are you okay?”

It took a moment for Peter’s brain to quieten enough to respond. He just wanted to hug her.

“I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” came her reply, muffled against the side of his head.

“Everybody else okay?” Even now, Peter had no idea how far Beck would go to get revenge. Killing an entire class of innocent high-schoolers with drones didn’t seem that much of a stretch from executing a high-schooler at point-blank range.

“Everyone’s okay,” MJ assured him.

Peter let out a long breath in relief.

“What happened?” he asked, still holding her tight against him. The feeling of her arms wrapped around him, just as tight, grounded him. She was there. She was real. This _couldn’t_ be an illusion.

“It just – ” MJ began, before starting over, stuttering and uncertain. She was _terrified_. “There were these drones, and they were following us, and then they just… stopped.”

She took a deep breath, before asking, “Was that you?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied in his best attempt at nonchalance, although in truth it was probably more exhaustion. Finally, almost unwillingly, the two of them separated.

“Did you get him?” MJ asked quietly. Peter swallowed, thinking.

“Yeah,” was all he said. He didn’t bother talking about his uncertainty, or his emotional… confusion. Whatever he felt about Beck was a personal problem. One he had to sort out and deal with himself.

“Well, I, um…” MJ turned to gesture to what looked like an old medieval mace that she’d thrown aside to hug him, “Brought that. In case you needed some help.”

MJ laughed awkwardly, probably thinking it was just stupid, but Peter was stunned. MJ had run into _obvious_ danger against an unknown number of _hyper-advanced_ combat drones wielding nothing but a weapon that had been rendered obsolete _centuries_ ago, just to… try and help him?

“Thanks,” he said genuinely, smiling at her. MJ’s laughter stalled awkwardly.

“Anyway… uh, there’s this sweaty guy in the tower with us. I think he, like, works for you?” Peter stored that particular point away to use against Happy as often as he could. ‘Works _for_ you’. Then, as MJ reached into her pocket, Peter realised what it was about. What it _meant_. They must have been moments from – If he’d hesitated, or been too slow…

“He, uh… he gave me this,” MJ said, holding out the necklace cupped in two hands. Then Peter’s heart stopped again and he made a low sound of despair.

“No…”

Two of the petals had snapped clean off, and one of them had been badly chipped. Peter found himself talking – explaining – admitting – _confessing_.

“I’m… I’m so sorry. I had this plan – this stupid plan. I wrote it all down,” Peter heard his voice break but he couldn’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth. It was all ruined. “I was gonna buy this and give it to you in Paris and – ”

Finally, Peter’s mouth stopped moving, even if it took his brain a few moments to catch up to exactly why.

The first thing Peter’s brain recognised was simply _There’s an obstruction._

The second thing was _This obstruction feels nice._

It was then that the obstruction vanished, but Peter’s brain was still working its way through figuring out exactly what had just happened.

Eventually, Peter figured out what the obstruction was. _Lips._

And then it hit him.

“You kissed me.”

MJ looked nervous and uncertain. Peter _felt_ nervous and uncertain. He tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. His poor brain was still trying to comprehend the idea that _Michelle Jones had just kissed him._

“I don’t really have much luck when it comes to getting close to people,” MJ admitted softly. It was the uncertainty in her voice – the sheer vulnerability – that hyper-focused Peter’s mind on her words. She evidently thought what she was saying was important, and secret, and Peter wouldn’t miss a second of it. MJ swallowed nervously, then almost whispered the next part. “So I lied… I _wasn’t_ just watching you because I thought you were Spider-Man.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. Literally. The onboard computer in his suit flashed a warning sign, which quickly vanished when his heartbeat… well, it didn’t exactly stabilise, but that it _continued_ was probably the best he could hope for. Did that mean what he thought it meant?

Peter felt himself grinning like an idiot and tried to control it so she didn’t think he was laughing at her. Eventually he realised she was waiting for some sort of response. Peter kicked himself. She’d actually all-but-admitted she liked him. All _he’d_ done in Prague was stumble around admitting that there was _some_ reason he’d _hoped_ she’d been watching him.

“That’s great,” Peter choked out eventually, trying not to spontaneously combust. He could just see the headlines. _Spider-Man, the hero Avenger who helped defeat Thanos, has died. He spontaneously combusted because his crush kissed him._ Not quite the eulogy he hoped for.

“Black Dahlia,” MJ commented, smoothly changing the conversation to a slightly less awkward topic, “Like…”

“The murder,” they said together. Peter looked down at the necklace cupped carefully in her hands and his happiness flickered uncertainly, just at the sight of the chipped glass.

“I-I’m sorry it’s broken,” he mumbled. MJ glanced down at the necklace, considering it.

“I actually like it better broken.” She looked up at him, offering him another smile – genuine, uncertain, and entirely her. Peter really wasn’t sure how to take that. Was she just talking about the necklace? Peter realised this was it. It had all been fumbling around in the dark up till then. Time to turn on a light.

“I really like you,” he admitted finally. Even with the memory of her lips against his, his entire body collapsed into a bundle of nerves and the words caught in his throat, but he forced them out. What if it had just been adrenaline? What if she wasn’t sure? What if she wasn’t ready to –

“I really like you too.”

The response was simple enough, but it gave Peter the determination, the confidence, to realise exactly what he needed to do next. He felt himself moving in for another kiss, then hesitated. Should he ask? Then he realised MJ had moved as well, before pausing when he did. A shared awkward laugh, and Peter finally got to do something he’d been dreaming of for months… _kiss MJ_. Being kissed by her was good, but he’d been too distracted with his rambling to properly acknowledge it, so kissing her, _both of them_ _kissing_ , was a new thing entirely.

Peter watched her a little uncertainly as they separated, but the look on her face settled his nerves. It might have been rushed and uncertain, but it was as good for her as it had been for him. He pushed forwards, the last of the adrenaline from the fight – or maybe the confession – giving him the burst of courage he needed. MJ met him halfway, and Peter felt her hand brush against a cut on his cheek as he pushed up into the kiss. He’d known he was short, but in his many fantasies about kissing MJ he’d never had to go _onto his toes_ to kiss her. He knew she’d make some quip about him being short – he could feel the curve of her smirk against his lips, so when it felt like she was about to pull away, he leant in, mouth opening instinctively. Despite the uncertainty Peter had seen in MJ during the whole conversation – maybe she really was as nervous as he was – there was no hesitation. She responded immediately, hand slipping to the back of his neck to pull him closer.

Sure, maybe in his fantasies, _Peter_ had been the forward one, but MJ would probably dismiss that as… patriarchal assumptions of masculine dominance or… something, and honestly? Peter had to admit that her taking control was much more like MJ, and much, much better.

After what was either three seconds or three hours, MJ pulled back and looked at him. Peter felt a smile on his face and almost tried to hide it before he saw a mirrored one on MJ’s face. She laughed a little awkwardly.

“Okay, I should, um…” Peter’s mind wasn’t working particularly well either, so he couldn’t blame MJ for being less than eloquent, “I should probably get back to the class.”

“I’ll go and…” He’d started talking without any idea where the sentence was going, so he just let it trail off and gestured back the way she’d come.

“Okay,” MJ laughed. Peter wasn’t sure if she’d even heard his words, but he really didn’t mind. His head was filled with cotton balls.

MJ picked up what Peter was now certain was a genuine historical artefact, an actual, honest-to-God antique _mace_ , gesturing with it.

“Just in case.”

And with that, she started walking back up the bridge. Peter watched her go, mind reeling with amazement and shock, but he still caught her gaze as she glanced back at him with a smile.

Suddenly, everything from the past week, the hijacking of his vacation, the Elemental crisis, the betrayal by Beck, even being hit by a train and ending up in jail in the Netherlands… it all seemed worth it.


	18. Meetings

Peter glanced down at the ringing phone in his hand and sighed.

_Unknown Number._

Probably best to get it over and done with, this time. Peter hit _answer_ , held the phone against his ear with his shoulder, and tried to pull a sock on with one hand.

_“Parker. Where are you?”_

“I’m…” Peter paused, tugging the sock on properly, then reached for his shoes. Luckily, London was practically silent, since the place had gone into lock-down when the ‘Elemental’ had appeared. “Building an alibi,” he said vaguely.

_“We need to talk.”_

Peter tried to keep his voice steady.

“I’m sorry, Mister Fury, but I can’t right now. I’m trying to keep my identity a secret.” He heard Fury start to berate him, and cut him off. “I won’t be much use to you if people know who I am, will I?”

There was silence from the other end of the line. Fury seemed shocked that Peter had talked over him. To be perfectly honest, _Peter_ was shocked that he had talked over him.

_“There’s two hundred rogue combat drones we need to deal with.”_

“With all due respect, Mister Fury, I _have_ just dealt with them.”

Fury scoffed. Peter struggled to picture the man smiling, even mentally. The closest he got was giving the man a sort of grimace.

_“Then where the hell are they?”_

Peter frowned, mental picture of Fury almost smiling vanishing as he ducked his head out of the alleyway to try and look down to the banks of the river.

“What do you mean?”

_“We sent agents to collect the drones, and they were gone.”_

Peter let out a low groan.

 _“So_ presumably _whoever Beck was working for still has access to two hundred combat drones. This isn’t over, Parker.”_

Peter rested his head against the brickwork.

“Well, if I see any, I’ll let you know. But I can’t be hunting down drones right now.”

 _“Well what about EDITH?”_ Fury asked, _“Will you let us use it to track them down?”_

“I…” Peter frowned, “I’ll check with EDITH when I get the glasses back, but–”

 _“You mean you_ still _don’t have them? You left them with a school-friend, who_ _you knew was_ _being_ hunted _by Beck?”_ Fury exploded in irritation.

“I was a little busy fighting Beck to pick up a pair of glasses,” Peter snapped, before wincing. That wasn’t going to go over well. “Anyway, EDITH can’t track the drones. They’re on another network. But I’ll see if she can find anything about them, and I’ll let you know.”

Peter hung up the phone.

_That went well._

* * *

Peter checked himself out in the reflection in a shop window, and, if he was perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure why. The _excuse_ would be that he was trying to make sure he didn’t look like he’d been in a fight with three hundred combat drones. But was he really just trying to make sure he looked okay for when he saw MJ? Or was he just stalling out of nerves?

Peter had no idea. All he knew was that he looked less injured than when he’d been hit by a train, and he that was probably better than he could have hoped for.

Speaking of things being better than he could have hoped for… he really needed to figure out what he was going to say to MJ.

And, for that matter, the rest of his class. He was still waiting for a text from Ned about the details of his cover story, so… he could go to an underground station and act as though he’d gotten a flight in, then got the underground, then waited in the tube while the battle was going on…

Peter grinned as all the pieces of the explanation mostly fell into place. Then his phone buzzed.

_told harrington u’ve been staying w/ aunt julia in berlin_

Peter nodded to himself, rereading the message to make sure he didn’t mess it up. Then another message came through. And another. And another.

_also mj seems??_

_different???_

_did you????_

Peter felt himself grinning to himself as he headed down the street towards the Tower Bridge. Then he paused, leant against a wall, and sent Ned a text, carefully avoiding the MJ discussion.

_Where are you guys?_

Barely a moment later, Ned replied, but _not_ with a location.

_not answering the mj q? ;)_

Peter was torn between sighing and laughing, but Ned hurriedly moved on.

_we’re outside tower of l_

Peter hurriedly opened Google Maps, then grinned.

_Be there in 5!_

Peter took off at a jog, glanced down at his phone, and sighed.

“Going in the right direction might help,” he muttered to himself, turning around and heading out across the remains of the bridge.

* * *

_The Tower of London._

Peter frowned up at it. It was _big_ , sure, but it was a castle. Not really a _tower_ , if you asked him. Although he supposed that even a small tower was technically a tower. What counted as a tower, as opposed to, say, a tall house?

Peter stopped his brain rambling, and struggled to keep a grin off his face as he was stopped by an honest-to-God palace guard, fluffy hat and all. The modern machine gun in his hands – pointed at Peter – definitely wasn’t as funny, however. Nor was the man’s _very_ serious expression.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Peter blinked in surprise.

“Uh… I…” He gestured into the Tower courtyard uncertainly, “I got separated from my class, and my friend told me they were waiting in here?”

The guard frowned at him, then glanced past Peter into the street, lowering his gun slowly. Presumably the guard didn't think Peter looked like the kind of terrorist that would send all of London into lockdown. MJ would probably have a field day berating him for prejudices.

“You’ve been out there?” the guard asked, "Alone?" An expression of obvious surprise passed across his face. Clearly Peter looked absolutely helpless. “Any idea what’s happening? We got told to lock the place down, but no one knows anything more than that.”

Peter shrugged.

“There was a giant… like, storm monster, and then it turned into a ton of drones? And… well, you know Spider-Man?” Peter asked, trying to sound like a tourist, rather than, well... a hero. “Apparently he was fighting them. I ended up hiding in an Underground station, then when the fighting seemed to have stopped, I came straight here to find my class.”

The guard nodded, still looking out into the city with a slightly nervous expression.

“Yeah, we had a couple of drones come through.”

Peter glanced between the guard and the courtyard, uncertain.

“Can I...?”

“Huh?” The guard glanced at Peter, then waved him away, “Yeah, ‘course. Your school group is hiding in the gift shop, last I heard.”

* * *

Peter spotted his class milling between the shelves of the gift shop as soon as he walked through the doors, and had to physically stop himself from running up to MJ and… probably tripping over a display and publicly humiliating himself, knowing his luck. He focused on keeping his alibi working and tried to walk over as if he was simply shocked at the chaos.

“Peter! Good to see you!”

Peter struggled to pull his eyes from MJ to Mr Harrington.

“Hey, yeah, I just got in from…” Peter’s mind tried to remember which airport was closest to London. Heathrow? Gatwick? “...the airport. Got the train to Paddington, then I was stuck under there when…” Peter paused to gesture outside, “Everything went down.”

“Did you see Spider-Man?” Flash seemed to have actually stopped live-streaming for once. “What was he like? Can someone record him talking about it? My phone’s dead.”

Peter covered a smile at that. The one thing that would stop Flash live-streaming.

“I… uh, didn’t actually see him,” Peter lied, “But from what I hear he was fighting a bunch of drones?”

“I knew it!” Flash practically shouted, “Spider-Man stopped the drones!”

Peter didn’t know who, exactly, Flash was proving the point to, but the way the class reacted, he’d been making his case for a long time.

“What about Mysterio?” came an unwelcome voice from the back. Peter tried to keep his face neutral as he looked over at Brad, shrugging.

“I don’t–“

“He _might_ have been helping,” Flash interrupted with a disdainful tone, “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he was just faking the whole thing to become famous. He was the one who supposedly knew all about those Elementals, and it looks like they were just hoaxes. It was all projections from the drones.”

Peter tried not to stare at Flash as, with practically no extra knowledge, he unfolded the entire conspiracy – a conspiracy that had fooled Peter himself, all of SHIELD, and freaking Nick Fury – in less than ten seconds.

“Hey, _Peter_.”

Peter turned and saw Ned, who looked like he was torn between being serious and just hugging him.

“Hey, Ned!” Peter exclaimed, pulling him into a relieved hug. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“Well,” Ned said pointedly, “We _were_ chased by killer drones. But it’s okay. Spider-Man saved us.”

Peter nodded, looking around for MJ.

“Sup, loser.”

If he was asked about it by his classmates, Peter would blame the stress of arriving in the middle of a pitched battle between a superhero and an army of drones. If he was asked about it by his friends, Peter would blame the stress of facing off with Mysterio and his illusions. Whatever the reason, Peter jumped out of his skin at MJ’s voice coming from behind him.

“Jesus, f–“ Peter just about managed to keep himself from swearing out loud. Then he heard the laughter. He turned, and finally saw MJ, leaning against a shelf of what looked like resin skulls, her usual half-smile on her face. Then it grew slightly, turning into a proper, actual smile. Peter felt his heart do a somersault just from seeing her.

“Glad you’re not dead. Again.”

“Glad I’m not dead,” Peter agreed. It was a struggle for him to do anything other than smile like an idiot.

Ned coughed pointedly, looking between the two of them. Peter felt himself blush at his friend’s knowing look, a blush that only grew worse as MJ sauntered over and slung an arm around his shoulder, squinting at Ned as if she was daring him to say something.

“Well!” Mr Harrington said, turning to the class, “I think it’s time we should all head to the airport. The booking company has got us some amazing seats to apologise for the rather chaotic trip.”

 _Rather chaotic_ was certainly one way of describing the trip. Peter hung back with Ned, Betty, and MJ as the rest of the class filed out of the gift shop. Peter was feeling so relieved and happy, he practically didn’t notice the venemous glare that Brad Davis threw him on his way past.

“I must say,” Mr Harrington whispered conspiratorially as he passed, “The two of you seem perfect together. You remind me of my wife…”

Peter and MJ shared a look, both of them trying not to laugh.

“That’s an encouraging thought. His _wife_ ,” Peter muttered quietly.

“Which one?” MJ replied, lips quirking into a grin. Peter felt a flash of courage and leaned closer, and watched as MJ’s grin grew and she leaned down slightly.

“Oh, Peter!” Ned said, pausing at the door as Betty stepped through. Peter and MJ froze, lips barely an inch apart, and Ned coughed awkwardly. Peter tore his eyes away from MJ, who was now shooting daggers at Ned, and saw him holding out a leather glasses case, pointedly trying to not look at the two of them.

“Right,” Peter said, taking the gift and removing the glasses, slipping them onto his tshirt. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ned said, hurrying after Betty as quickly as he could.

The two of them were silent for a moment, then MJ started to laugh. Peter groaned, turning back to her, hopefully to continue where they’d left off. She looked up at him, and for a moment, he thought she was about to lean in, but then she was gone, brushing past him with a smirk.

“Come on, nerd,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him after her. “Don’t want you to get lost again.”

* * *

As soon as Peter had been given the chance, huddled at the back of the slightly less impressive coach that was taking them to the airport, he called Fury – or, more accurately, Hill – to get help in confirming that there were no security breaches to the EDITH network. Ned was leaning over the back of the chair in front to help, with a disinterested Betty listening to music next to him and tuning out their ‘technobabble’. More importantly than all of that, MJ was sat next to him, reading a book on the history of the Tower of London, turning the pages with one hand as the other held Peter’s hand.

* * *

Considering he’d just stopped a supervillain’s attack on London, Peter thought that SHIELD was less than happy with him. He had to admit, he hadn’t been _entirely_ successful. While Peter _had_ deactivated all the drones and stopped them from actually killing anyone, he hadn’t thought to reconnect them to the EDITH network, and by the time SHIELD had arrived to reclaim them, they’d vanished. So presumably Beck’s people – if he had any people who would work for him after he was dead – still had access to a couple of hundred rogue combat drones. Peter imagined SHIELD would be cleaning up that security breach for a while, and from Fury’s tone, Peter had an unwelcome but expected feeling that Spider-Man was going to end up being forced to help. But for now, one admittedly vague but apparently believable excuse about his German family deciding the Elemental attack was over after the globally broadcast showdown in London, Peter was on the flight back to the States. Well, technically, he was _waiting_ for the flight back to the States. Because nothing in Peter’s life had ever been easy…


	19. Delays

“What do you mean, ‘delayed’?”

There was a pause as the question – a sentiment echoed all around them by the rest of the class – filled the air between the four of them.

“Ned, what do you think delayed means?” Peter asked, genuinely curious what the question was actually supposed to mean.

“I mean...” Peter and MJ shared a look as Ned started trying to defend his rather obvious question. Peter was still trying to wrap his head around _them_. There was a very noticeable difference between _Oh, thank God you’re alive_ kisses in the relative privacy of an abandoned and partially destroyed Tower Bridge and openly being _a couple_ among the class. Although, a lot of the class didn’t seem surprised at the two of them. One of their classmates had actually been under the impression that they’d been dating for a month and that they simply hadn’t decided to make a big deal out of it, which, considering MJ, wasn’t that much of a stretch, in Peter’s opinion. _Brad_ certainly wasn’t happy about it, but everyone seemed to be treating him like a bit of an outcast. Something to do with him “creeping on people” in the bathroom, MJ had mentioned, sounding _remarkably_ smug about the whole situation. Either way, even if no one else was surprised by it, _Peter_ was still coming to terms with the relationship. His hand was even tingling where she was holding it, and he felt himself grinning like an idiot whenever he looked at MJ, which was most of the time, although _that_ wasn’t new. He was just allowed to be more obvious with it. “How _long_ will it be delayed?”

Peter jerked his gaze back towards his best friend. Was he _still_ complaining about the delay? How long had he even been looking at MJ?

“Probably days.”

Peter’s lips twitched into a smile at MJ’s sarcasm.

“It’ll probably be a few hours at most,” Peter said, hopefully sounding more confident than he felt. He’d managed to get this far in life without ever having to face a flight delay as a combined result of the bizarre duality of not being able to afford ordinary flights as Peter Parker, and having VIP private jet flights by either Stark Enterprises or SHIELD as Spider-Man, so he really had no experience with delays. A few hours sounded reasonable, right? He didn’t want to check EDITH to confirm it, simply because Fury had been very adamant that he not use it for “frivolous activities”, which… well, Peter understood that. He wouldn’t want to accidentally call a drone strike on someone. Not even Brad or Flash. Well… maybe Brad. _Maybe._

“Ughhhh.”

Peter had to admit, Ned’s groan echoed what he was thinking. He was still recuperating from the fight against Beck’s army of advanced combat drones, all of which had been determined to demonstrate their _advanced combat abilities_ on him. He felt a tug on his hand and glanced at MJ. Or, more accurately, glanced at the space that MJ had previously inhabited. A light chuckle drew his gaze downwards and he grinned at his girlfriend - his heart still jumped every time he even _thought_ the word - who had slid down to sit cross-legged on the floor. She tugged his hand again and he, only half begrudgingly, followed her down, muscles aching slightly as he settled down next to her, a feeling that was quickly overridden by his heart jumping in happiness as her knee nudged his playfully.

* * *

Five hours of vague discussion, quick, happy glances, and a few card games using Ned’s London-themed card deck - which Betty, of all people, somehow thoroughly _thrashed_ the three of them at - Peter got a phone call.

_Unknown Number._

Peter’s stomach dropped, but he was tired. He hit the _Reject Call_ button, ignoring the pointed looks from Ned and MJ.

Then his phone started buzzing again.

Peter closed his eyes and let out a breath to calm down before answering the phone.

 _“Parker.”_ Fury’s voice was a little tinny from the speakers. Peter decided to cut him off before he could come up with another mission.

“I’m not available,” Peter said firmly, “I’m already at the airport - ”

 _“Waiting for flight_ US217 _, which has been delayed for… coming up to six hours now.”_ Peter froze. He didn’t need to check his ticket to know that was the flight number. Fury wasn’t one to make mistakes. _“Pretty soon you’re going to be told that the flight has been cancelled.”_

“Are you telling me you cancelled a flight to keep me in Europe?” Peter whispered angrily, drawing a loud cough from Ned. Betty seemed to be making a big deal out of _not_ eavesdropping, which Peter appreciated, since he didn’t really want to have to tell _yet another_ person about his secret identity. MJ squeezed his hand gently. Fury simply ignored his anger.

 _“The_ police _cancelled the flight. They’ve received word of a bomb threat.”_

Peter must have squeezed MJ’s hand too tightly, because she tugged her hand free. He tried to throw her an apologetic look, but he felt too distracted. _Bomb threat?_

“Beck’s people?” he asked, feeling sick.

_“That’s the assumption. SHIELD are already moving in to deal with the bomb, if there is one, since if it’s misappropriated Stark technology, normal bomb disposal won’t be able to handle it. Your class will be put up in a five-star hotel while it’s dealt with.”_

Peter sighed heavily. It seemed the adventure wasn’t over yet.

“What do you need me to do?”

 _“Can you defuse a Stark bomb?”_ Fury asked drily. With his suit, and access to EDITH, he _might_ be able to, actually. Luckily, before Peter could begrudgingly mention it, Fury continued, _“No. Do nothing. Get some rest._ ” Peter was surprised at Fury’s willingness to actually let him relax, and the fact that the man had mentioned it. It seemed out of character. Although Fury didn’t seem particularly happy with the situation. Was he being _forced_ to be kind? Happy had off-handedly mentioned that Fury would be giving him some breathing room. Was this what he meant? Had _Happy Hogan_ managed to tame the Director of SHIELD? Or was Fury just trying to keep Peter out of the way of a bomb threat? Was he reading too much into this? _“Enjoy the night at a hotel. You’ll be sharing a room, so you could probably rearrange it to be with your girlfriend.”_

Peter instinctively glanced at MJ. She merely raised an eyebrow, but Peter could tell she was nervous. She must have seen in his face that something was wrong.

“Seriously? Nothing?”

 _“Unless you see someone from Beck’s crew. Then, I assume I don’t need to tell you to_ deal _with them.”_

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Will do.”

The line went dead. Peter lowered the phone and sighed.

Ned and MJ were looking at him expectantly.

“Well, there’s good news, and bad news.”

* * *

Peter had to admit, MJ seemed to take the bomb threat quite well, considering she was relatively new to the trials of being an F.O.S. She almost seemed more interested in the hotel they’d be staying at, and she seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Fury, quickly making a deal with Ned to swap rooms once they were officially checked in. Peter supposed that compared to being in the middle of three – admittedly faked – Elemental attacks, and being hunted by killer drones that were seconds away from killing her, something as simple as a _possible_ bomb threat on a plane that _they h_ _adn’t actually boarded yet_ probably wasn’t that scary. And, if Peter was perfectly honest, the thought of possibly sharing a room with MJ was _definitely_ more scary than any bomb threat Beck’s people could come up with. Or was _fear_ the right emotion? _Anticipation._ He wondered if he'd actually be getting any sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is actually a reworking of one of my Tumblr one-shots that seemed to fit in the story, so, no, you're probably not just suffering from déjà vu, you may have actually read it before.


	20. Nightmares

Peter woke with a start, heart pumping, muscles clenched, waiting for something that never came – a gunshot? a collision? The nightmare was already fading from his memory, and his mind couldn’t hold onto any of the details. All he could remember was Beck’s voice, and the absolute terror he’d felt. After a moment, he spotted two eyes in the darkness, watching him carefully. The fear that reared its head in his chest at the sight dimmed slightly as the person spoke.

“Peter?” The voice was quiet and gentle, and not in the slightest annoyed at apparently being woken up at… he couldn’t focus on the clock to read the time off it, but _early_. “Are you okay?”

Peter tried to nod, or say something, or just acknowledge the question, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He felt a light breath against his face as MJ leant over his bed, looking down at him with concern.

“Okay, I’m going to…” Even through the fog of terror, Peter could hear the nervousness in her voice. Then the mattress sank as MJ climbed onto the bed, sliding under the covers next to him. The light press of her hand on his chest somehow calmed him. Maybe he was still too distracted by the nightmare to properly register the fact that MJ was in his bed, touching his chest.

“I’m here.”

Finally, as the last of the utter terror faded into simple fear, Peter regained enough control over his body to nod uncertainly. He felt the light press of lips against his forehead, and the tickle of hair brushing across his skin, and he swallowed, eyelids flickering shut. After a moment, maybe to let him grow accustomed to her presence, or maybe to build her own courage, MJ’s arm slid across his chest and curled, pulling him closer. And in a flash, the terror was back. The room vanished from his senses and he was trapped. Under a building? Fighting Vulture? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t think of anything except the feeling of being crushed, compressed, not being able to –

MJ’s arm immediately loosened as he tensed, and he half-heard a breathed apology as he tried to get his heartbeat under control. He opened his eyes and turned to look at her, barely visible in the darkness of the room. He focused on her presence. On what he _knew_ , rather than what he _felt_. Not the weight compressing him, but her arm, sheltering him. Not a shadowy figure in the darkness, but a friend, _more than a friend_ , there for him. After what must have been almost half an hour, through which MJ’s eyes never flickered or left his, Peter finally felt like he was settled. He smiled, a little uncertainly, and let out a breath. His “Thank you” was already quiet, but it was all-but-silenced by the soft kiss MJ pressed against his lips. After a moment without her pulling back, Peter gave up thanking her with words and simply kissed her back. He felt the hand that was holding him close drift down his side and felt a flash of uncertainty which quickly faded as the hand slipped underneath his t-shirt and drifted back up, leaving a trail of goose-bumps in its path as Peter’s body reacted to the feeling of skin against bare skin. MJ’s hand ran across his chest slowly, then traced a path around his side to rest lightly where it had settled before.

Peter swallowed, pulling back from the kiss for a breath.

“We don’t need to do anything,” MJ said hurriedly, “I just…” There was a pause, then she let out an embarrassed whisper, “Your body. _Wow._ ”

Even with his enhanced hearing, Peter almost missed the breath that was the last word. As her actual admission filtered into his brain, Peter felt a flicker of amusement that almost completely smothered the remaining embers of fear.

“With two people in the bed, I’ll be warm enough not to wear a t-shirt,” he teased lightly. He felt a jab in his side as MJ poked him.

“Shut up,” she muttered. Peter swallowed his laugh and settled back against the pillow for a moment, before feeling MJ adjust herself. A light tug on his shirt made him realise with a not-unwelcome start that she’d taken his comment seriously. Peter tried not to shiver at the feeling of her fingers, slipped under the hem of his t-shirt as she slowly peeled it off him. Eventually, Peter had to move to allow MJ to pull it free from his shoulders. Peter raise his arms, starting to pull the t-shirt over his head slowly, where it got caught, first on his chin, which pulled the t-shirt inside out, and then on his nose. As soon as his mouth was clear, Peter felt lips against his, warm and welcoming. With a jerk, the t-shirt came free from his face and he watched as MJ balled the fabric up and threw it onto her bed, before settling down next to him and running her hand across his skin again.

Peter wasn’t sure if he was confident or forward enough to start taking MJ’s top off, but before he could even consider it, he felt MJ start talking softly.

“I know it’s really hypocritical,” she said, almost sounding guilty, “But is this okay? I don’t feel – ”

Peter could guess what she was going to say. _I don’t feel comfortable reciprocating._ He smiled, and took the opportunity to silence MJ’s uncertain words with a quick kiss. There was a moment’s pause, before Peter filled the silence.

“It’s absolutely okay. I’m still trying to wrap my head around you being in my bed.” That got a slightly embarrassed laugh from MJ. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

MJ kissed him gently, before pulling back and looking at him, nose to nose.

“It seems like we have a thing.”

Peter blinked.

“What thing? Like, us? Because I thought that was definitely a – ” Once again, MJ silenced him with a quick kiss.

“Kissing each other to shut them up when they’re rambling awkwardly,” MJ explained, before settling her head down onto the pillow, “And kissing each other to say thank you, but that one seems pretty common.”

Peter chuckled lightly. Just like MJ to be more interested in the thing they had that was _different._

“Well, if it means we get to kiss lots, I’m fine with both of them. And I guess I’ll have to ramble awkwardly more often.” MJ snorted in amusement and elbowed him lightly.

“As if you could _stop yourself_ rambling, dork.”

Peter had to admit, that was a fair point.


	21. Home Sweet Home

The flight home had been a hundred times simpler than the flight to Venice. Peter hadn’t needed to enact musical chairs, or wrangle Ned into a secret plot to rearrange seating positions. MJ had simply got on ahead of him, then stopped in the middle of the passageway with her bag and lifted it into an overhead compartment with a quip about Peter protecting his “pretty face”. Peter privately had to agree with her joke, since it was probably only due to his quick healing that he wasn’t still sporting a black eye from the flight over. She’d slid into the middle seat – next to a strangely familiar old man with combed back white hair, who’d been asleep even before they’d lifted off, aviator glasses looking like they were about to fall off his face – then MJ had reached over to grab Peter’s hand and pulled him into the seat next to her. And that was that. Peter most definitely had not smirked at Brad when he’d walked past. Peter Parker was much too mature to do that. It was simply coincidence that he’d been grinning at one of his girlfriend’s many clever jokes when he’d happened to glance at Brad. Pure coincidence.

They’d ended up watching movies for barely half the flight – including a second viewing of The Snap where Peter pointed out all the inaccuracies he’d spotted the first time in a whisper – and spent most the rest of the time just talking. It wasn’t that they didn’t know anything about each other, but the shift in their relationship made it seem like they were relearning everything about each other.

It was set to be a long flight after an exhausting week, and Peter always got tired after watching movies, but if he was going to be sappy and romantic – even if it was only in his mind – he’d say the reason he actually managed to fall asleep during the flight was simply because he was next to MJ. It wasn’t even that she was particularly comfortable to sleep on, if he was honest, since her jumper was actually a little itchy against his cheek, but there was something about her that meant he could just relax, which was something he felt like he hadn’t done properly for years. And maybe he was resting his head on her shoulder, rather than the other way around, but they were both comfy, and that was what mattered. Although it was rather annoying that whenever he repositioned his head to get rid of a crick in his neck, it woke her up. On the plus side, when she _did_ wake up, there wasn't any awkwardness. All that happened was they a shared smile before they got settled again.

So, yeah, Peter could definitely get used to having a girlfriend to sleep… next to.

* * *

As much as Peter had enjoyed the trip to Europe – and, despite how eventful it had been at times, he _had_ enjoyed it, and not only because of MJ, the stops were interesting as well – he still felt himself relax as the class made its way through JFK International. He couldn’t wait to get home and simply relax. He’d need a vacation to get over his vacation. Or maybe just a very long, very hot shower, and a few proper dates with MJ. Maybe he could even take her swinging through Manhattan, if he wore his suit? If anyone asked, they could pretend he was helping her escape from an abusive ex or some muggers or – 

The brush of MJ’s knuckles against the back of his hand distracted him from what was, in effect, a daydream about a plan for a date, and he instinctively reached out to hold her hand. The fact that he could just do that, now? Amazing. The feeling when she immediately squeezed his hand and glanced at him? Even better. He tried not to smile too widely as they walked out of the arrivals and spotted the pack of parents – was that the right group noun? – waiting for the class. Peter looked over the faces, split in his desire to find May, and see if MJ’s parents had turned up. She never mentioned it, and Peter knew it wasn’t his place to just ask, but he’d noticed they’d never really shown up to collect her for anything. Even after the Decathlon trip to Washington – and the near disaster up the Washington monument – Peter remembered her hanging back alone by the bus as everyone else left with family. A quick glance around didn’t show up any faces Peter recognised as Mr and Mrs Jones, but he was prevented from doing a thorough search when MJ slowed to a stop and tugged his hand to hold him back.

“What’s up?” Peter asked, turning to face her properly.

“Nothing,” MJ said hurriedly. Then she paused. “I just… I’m not ready for this trip to be over.”

Peter tried not to smile at her words. Exactly what he’d said before their first date in Prague.

“Do you…” Peter spotted Aunt May at the back of the crowd, looking around for him. “Do you want to get a lift back with me and May?” he asked uncertainly. Sure, they were dating, and sure, MJ had gotten lifts with him and Aunt May before, and even come over for movies and homework on numerous occasions, but Peter wasn’t sure if it would seem like too much too fast.

MJ looked at him like she was drowning and he’d just thrown her a lifeline.

“I don’t…” She paused, biting her lip, then, after a moment of thought, started again. “That would be great.”

Peter felt himself smiling like an idiot, but before he could control it, MJ smiled back at him, and suddenly, feeling like an idiot didn’t matter.

“Great. Do you want me to get your bag?”

MJ’s smile vanished and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Because I’m a weak girl and unable to carry my own bag?” she asked, a trace of irritability in her voice. Peter didn’t fall for her bait and simply grinned.

“Did you know that jumping spiders can lift up to a hundred and seventy times their body weight?”

MJ glared at him, then sighed and gave in, obviously trying and failing to hide a smile.

“Fine, be a cliché gentleman, dork.”

Peter’s grin widened at her affectionate tone and he took her bag easily, leading her towards Aunt May, the car, and hopefully, no super-villains. At least not for a week or so.

God, he needed a vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that. Considering I wrote the entire story in July 2019, it's taken absolutely ages to actually publish it, but hey, my first published fanfiction is actually finished!
> 
> Time to keep working on the several other fanfics I have going at the same time (for four or five fandoms), that I haven't even thought about publishing.


End file.
